A Different Road Taken
by Aalon
Summary: Set in Season 4, Episode 1 after Kate Beckett is shot. Story goes AU immediately after Rick leaves Kate's room in the hospital. Rick takes a very different road, and finds a very different and fulfilling purpose. Multi-Chapter in progress.
1. Chapter 1

**A Different Road Taken**

**AN:** Set in Season 4, Episode 1 after Kate Beckett is shot. AU immediately after Rick leaves Kate's room in the hospital - Rick takes a very different road, and finds a very different and fulfilling purpose. Multi-Chapter.

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

Day 1

Rick Castle walks into Kate Beckett's hospital room, and finds Josh there, sitting close, next to her bed. He's sitting very close; too close. She's leaning into him, and it's clear they are having a 'moment'.

Talk about your third wheel; he sure feels it right now. He's living it right now. In a moment of bittersweet clarity, he finds that he isn't angry, watching her with another man; watching her with this man. It hurts, yeah, because he wishes beyond reason that it was him sitting there, not Josh. He wishes that she was his. But she's not. Oh, it's clearer than clear that she's not.

They must see him out of the corner of their eyes, because she leans back, putting her head back onto her pillow, away from Josh. Josh pauses a moment, looking at Castle, then stands up to leave. The last time he and Rick laid eyes on each other, punches almost flew. _Well, I flew_ - Rich thinks to himself – _flew into the wall._ It wasn't a pretty scene, and had Beckett's dad not been there to intervene, who knows how things might have turned out.

These are the thoughts dominating his thinking as Castle steps toward the bed. He and Josh nod at one another in passing. Castle feels kind of silly standing there with flowers. _Well_, he thinks, _they're not roses . . . flowers can be for any purpose._

And then it begins.

Eyes downcast, Kate offers him what he later will recall as the most liberating of greetings. For the past three years, he has slowly but surely been falling deeper and deeper into bondage over this woman. For a while, he used to wonder if it was love. And if it was, it was certainly uni-directional love. This wasn't a reciprocal thing going on for the past few years. It was purely one-way. That's bondage. Her greeting turns out to be a much-needed splash of cold water to the face. It frees him.

"I heard that you tried to save me," she offers up.

Her words free him – but his heart sinks in that moment, because those words tell him that she doesn't remember, or she is choosing to say she doesn't remember. But his mouth is moving far quicker than his mind can catch up, and before he can think, the most obvious of questions escapes his lips.

"You don't remember?"

"They say there are some things better not remembered."

He doesn't recall much more of the conversation. Her lips are moving, and perhaps his are also. But right now, his mind is on the fast track, circling the course, lap after lap in monotonous agony. He vaguely hears her tell him she's tired. He tells her he will see her tomorrow.

"You mind if we don't? I just need a little bit of time."

He's blinking back tears for a few seconds as he backs away. He wonders aloud how much time she is going to need.

"I'll call you ok . . ."

With that he turns and leaves. Shutting the door, he leans against the wall outside her room. The tears in his eyes seem to stay there, mercifully. He'd rather not be seen by anyone like this. A quick glance around confirms that he's alone. _Thank God Esposito and Ryan aren't here to see this_, he thinks to himself. The last people he wants to see right now are the two guys he almost considers his younger brothers. And he sure as hell doesn't need to see Lanie. He can't play that game right now.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Straightening his jacket, he is surprised at the almost indescribable calm he is feeling right now. It doesn't make sense. He should be torn up, ripped to pieces emotionally. He dived in front of her, trying to save her. That one heroic, courageous, incredibly stupid moment could have simultaneously saved the woman he clearly loves and orphaned the daughter he absolutely adores. His reward for his selfless act was to see Kate making gooey eyes with Josh, and making zip eye contact with himself as she summarily dismissed him from her presence.

He should be torn up, but he's not. Yeah, he's hurting, but surprisingly it's not worse.

He should be furious, but he's not. Yeah, he's more than perturbed, but he's not even pissed off or angry with her.

It's an epiphany that he will later credit with rescuing him from a very likely spiral of doom. As an author, he knows how he would write this dramatic and tragic scene. This is not headed for a happily-ever-after ending. But he's dead set in not writing that scene for himself. Walking towards the elevator, he surprises himself with the person he's decided to talk to in this moment of clarity. He scrolls down his screen on his phone and punches the SEND button.

"Richard, darling, how _**are**_ you? Have you been able to see Detective Beckett" Martha asks.

"Yes, mother. I just left her room. Do you have some time, mother?"

"For my favorite son - always."

"I'm your only son, mother," he chuckles. He's actually finding humor in this entire ghastly scene.

"That you know of, dearie. That you know of."

"Seriously, mother. Can you meet me at home? Believe it or not, I really need to talk with you," he counters.

"Of course, of course. On my way. Is everything all right, Richard?"

"At the loft, mother. At the loft."

With that, he clicks off, ending the call. He steps into the elevator, and glances back at the door leading to Kate Beckett's room. _Damn, Kate -_ he thinks as the elevator door closes - _I never saw us ending._

. . . . . .

Thirty minutes later, Castle unlocks the door to his loft and walks in. Martha is there waiting, a glass of wine in her hands as she waves him over to sit with her on the sofa. He manages a brief smile. Everything his mother does is theatrical.

"Richard, come over, have a seat, have a seat", she says as she brushes his cheek with a maternal kiss. "How is Detective Beckett?"

"She's fine. She's going to be fine. The doctors say she's going to be fine."

"Ok", Martha smiles. "So we have established that Detective Beckett is going to be fine. Why do I not believe there is good news here?"

Castle smiles along with his mother, although his smile does have a taint of glistening eyes. This does not go unnoticed by Martha, but she chooses not to say anything. At least not just yet. After all, he did ask her to come over to talk, so obviously there is something on his mind. He will get to it in his own time. But just as quickly, the tears which threaten to overflow pull back to their shores. He looks her squarely in the eyes as he sits down on the sofa with her.

"Mother, you know that moment of clear excitement and joy when you capture that lightning bug in the jar, and you wonder if it is okay and then it lights up and you realize _'I did it, I got it'_?"

"Ahhh . . . No. No, Richard, I'm afraid you've got me with this one."

"Hear me out, Mother," he pauses, as if searching for an easy way to say the words that are so obvious to everyone except for himself and the detective.

"Mother, I love Detective Beckett. I love her so very much."

"I know you do, Richard. And you told her," she agrees, and almost under her breath she adds _"not the greatest timing in the world as she was on the ground, shot in the heart, but tomato-tomahto."_

"I heard that, Mother. Are you going to listen or not," he smirks.

"I'm listening, I'm listening. You love Kate. Not news, really darling, but okay. You love Kate."

"Yes, I love her. And I've got to let her go."

Not much really surprises Martha about her son. She's a woman of the world, and has been around the block more than a few times. But right now, Martha is stunned. She tries to speak, but the thoughts and words won't align. She still has her mouth slightly hanging open when Castle continues:

"I love her, Mother - but I've got to let her go. And I've got to let _me_ go."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Richard, but something tells me this is going to be a good one – let me refresh my glass for a moment."

Castle chuckles to himself at his mother's ways. He realizes despite her eccentric manners and flighty appearance, his mother is a rock. She's cut out of a stone that you don't find much anymore. She raised her son by herself in the seventies and eighties, for crying out loud. His father walked out, never to be seen or heard from again. A single mom wasn't quite appreciated during those years as she is today. _Yeah, she's quite a woman_, he thinks to himself as she returns, and sits as she does everything – with a flash and flair.

"OK, Richard. You love Kate. And now that you have finally – and I do mean _finally_ – admitted this to yourself. And your dramatic conclusion - in your moment of clarity - is that you need to let her go."

It's a question, but she speaks as though it is a statement of fact.

He nods his head.

"And you have to let _you_ go as well." Again, it is spoken as a statement.

Again, he nods his head.

Martha eyes him for a few seconds, and then laughs out loud. "Well this _is_ going to be good. Let's hear it."

And with that – the conversation turns like the worm, from light-hearted to life-and-death-serious in a blink of the eye. The tears that glisten in her son's eyes yet again cause her to pause. For a moment he leans back into the soft cushions of his sofa, taking comfort in the safety of his retreat, his loft. This is his sanctuary, where he feels safe. Then he leans forward again, elbows on his knees and hands folded under his chin to anchor him for what he needs to say.

"She doesn't remember, mother. She doesn't remember what I did, or what I said."

Martha looks at him, and for a moment neither speaks. Both keep their full focus on the other. She, as though she is waiting for him to break into a clearly-late April Fool's line; he, as though he is waiting for some semblance of understanding from her.

"Did you talk with her?" she asks, finally.

"She didn't want to talk," he says bluntly.

"What does she remember?" she asks.

"She remembers she's with Josh."

With that, a single tear makes its way down his cheek. He brushes it off quickly, standing and going to his bar area to pour himself a scotch. When he returns, his shoulders aren't quite as straight and upright. He seems to have shrunk an inch or so.

The tears now taking hold in Martha's eyes threaten mushroom and bubble over. Like many people who see Castle and Beckett interact, she always thought that somehow, some way, some day these two star-crossed kids would find each other and get together. That she can literally and tangibly feel this conversation heading in a completely different direction is both unnerving and surprising to her.

"I don't understand," is all she can manage.

"It's really pretty simple, Mother," he says between small sniffles. "I walked in, and she was with Josh. Evidently, he opted for the chivalrous approach and left Kate and I to talk. Except we didn't really talk. She told me sometimes it's best not to remember anything. Then told me she was tired and it was pretty much time for me to leave."

Martha, still trying to process this, simply repeats herself. "I don't understand."

"I know, Mother. I know."

Later, as she recalls this conversation to others, Martha will tell people that she watched her son almost shrink, but then stand tall and finally, finally grow up. It seems Detective Beckett really did help her son find himself, as she knew she would – she just never figured this would be how it turned out.

"Here's what else I know, Mother. I feel my heart breaking. But somehow, it's like it is being put together at the same time. I see things so clearly, Mother – for the first time in a couple of years, I see things quite clearly - Not as I hoped or wished, but as things really are."

"And exactly how are things, Richard?" she asks.

"She doesn't love me, Mother. Not in the way that I love her. Not in the way that I want to be loved. I'm her friend – and dammit – I am and will forever be stuck in that God-forbidden friend zone with her."

Martha starts to interrupt, but Rick raises his hand to stop her. He needs to say this – it is important for his own ears to hear what his mouth is saying.

"Mother, I've had a couple of one-time dates in the past few years, but that's it. Beckett? She's had _relationships_. Big difference. She's been with Demming, and now she's with Josh. These aren't one-time flings or dates. These are _relationships_. Right in front of me, she _chooses_ to have these other relationships. These are her boyfriends. She has let them in to that wonderful place, that wonderful zone that she keeps closed off to me. She routinely – routinely, Mother – let's other men into that zone. But me? No – it's off limits to me."

"Richard, don't you think you might be over-reacting?"

Rick tries to respond, but now his mother cuts him off. It's her turn, and she definitely doesn't like the direction this is going.

"Richard, she's been through a lot in her life. You know this. Her mother's murder. Her father's depression and alcoholism. And now she's been shot. You've never been shot, Richard. How do you know how you would react to something like this?"

Rick, however, is undeterred. Not now – not when the clouds have scattered and he is seeing things clearly now for the first time in a long, long time.

"Mother, there is _always_ a reason with her – always an excuse – always something. And after each situation, after each traumatic event, after any hiccup she has in her life, she ends up not in my arms – but some other man's arms. That isn't coincidence, Mother. That is by design. Her design."

Martha again starts to say something, but this time she catches herself. God help her, she actually hears the wisdom in what he has just said.

"Mother, last year I thought Kate and I were finding our way, finding our groove. I thought we were getting there, Mother. But then at the very moment I am thinking that I have a chance, that she is feeling something for me also – _**boom**_ – she's with Demming. And Mother, I don't mean one date. I mean she's _with_ Demming. Multiple dates, kissing in the office, holding hands everywhere, sleeping together. So I do what I've done best for a while – I run away. Worse, I run away with Gina. Damn it all, what in the _hell_ was I thinking there! Don't answer that."

Martha allows a small smile, but grimaces as her son continues his – evidently well thought out – articulate rant.

"Then I come back, and it looks like we are getting there again. I keep telling myself we are getting closer, we are making progress – and just when I allow myself to think _'hey maybe I have a chance here'_ – _**boom**_ – she's with Josh. Where the hell did he even come from? That happened right under my nose, Mother – as I thought we were getting closer – she's finding someone else. I think we are going one way, but she's one hundred and eighty freaking degrees the other way. Geesh, it's like she grabs my balls and throws them out the window – "

"Richard!"

"I'm sorry, Mother. I am. But it's true, dammit, you know it is. She finds Josh right under my nose. And what do I do? I keep tagging along, good puppy dog that I am, hoping for my turn, hoping for my time in the batter's box. Cripes, Mother, do you even hear what I am saying? How pathetic am I?!"

For a moment, neither says a word. The tears are falling freely now, and Martha knows that despite the pain, this conversation is long overdue. This conversation is exactly what he needs.

"Mother, her apartment is blown up by a crazed serial killer. I – we – open our home and our hearts to her. What happens? She chooses a relationship not with me, but with Demming."

His right hand rummages through his hair as he grabs his drink of scotch and starts pacing. He's on a roll now, and regardless how it sounds, it is making perfect sense to him. Finally, he is starting to see things with clear precision. Martha responds by standing up and walking towards him – and as he changes direction, she follows, staying close to her son. The wisdom, the pure logic of what he is saying is overwhelming even her strong motherly desires for a happy ending for her son and the detective.

"Her apartment blows up, she's with Demming. She drops him. And finds another man. Not me, Mother. Another man. She _chooses_ Josh. Not me. Him. And she and I almost freeze to death in a damn trailer box – but we get rescued – and she ends up in _his_ arms. Not mine. Not the arms that were wrapped around her trying to keep her warm and alive. We almost freeze to death and she chooses him. We almost get blown sky high by a dirty bomb, and she ends up with him. Now she gets shot, a bullet to her heart. I try and jump in front to save her. I do that, Mother. And who does she end up with? Him! Not me."

At this point, Martha is right next to her son. They are pacing together. She turns and grabs his scotch, putting her glass of wine on the counter, and downs a large gulp.

"I need this more than you do, kiddo", she offers as an explanation.

"Mother, when does it stop? When she's dead? No – when I'm dead? Or maybe Alexis. Or maybe you."

Rick is almost frantic now, as he truly starts to remember events with an entirely different perspective. Gone is the romanticism he has attached to his actions around Beckett. Now, with crystal clarity, he sees the actions of a father who has lost his focus, lost his priorities.

"I tried to jump in front of a bullet, Mother. A bullet – and I did this in front of my daughter. I did this in front of you. Do you see the horror, the tragic horror in this?"

Martha is finally allowing a little anger to build in herself now. She's angry with Kate, but she's angry with her son as well. He has been careless with his own life, with no regard for his daughter. And she's angry with herself for never seeing this before, and pushing him to see it also.

"You don't have to tell _me_ this, Richard. I was there! I was there, damn you. When you were lying on the ground, do you realize we didn't know who had been shot. We didn't know if it was Kate or you. And all I can hear is screaming. Loud, anguished screaming that I – Richard – will never forget! And do you know who's screams I heard. _Your _daughter. My baby girl. Alexis's screams in my ears will never leave me, Richard. In one instant, she is certain she is orphaned. She is positive that she has just watched her father murdered, in cold blood. _You_ chose that, Richard. You had no thought for me, no thought for Alexis – your only thought was of Kate. Damn her, for what she does to you, Richard."

Martha goes back to the sofa, with tears flowing freely now. She errantly turns the glass of scotch in her hands. There is no confusion in her mind, or her son's mind at this point. Three years, they have waited. Three years they have hoped. And in those three years, he has courted death. No – he has cheated death countless times. His luck is bound to run out at some point, and she knows it, and he knows it. His next words seal that knowledge for both of them.

"It's not worth it, Mother. She's not worth it."

"No one is kiddo. No one is worth your daughter."

"I know, Mother. I know. She's damaged goods, Mother. She constantly, constantly chooses someone else, and everyone expects me to stick around like a good soldier. But I am just as damaged, Mother. Just as damaged. I've slept with two women in the last two years, and both of them, God help me, were my ex-wives. I jump at the chance for sex with the woman who walked out on Alexis and I, and when cornered, I run off with ex-wife number two. I'm just as damaged."

He's at the large wall window to the loft now, looking out over the city. It's as if he is surveying his territory one last time. He sees his reflection in the mirror. He's taken aback by what he sees. He's aged a bit in just these three short years. Getting shot at, getting beaten up, worrying about a love that will never be yours, that will do it to you.

"I have to let her go. I have to let me go. I have to free both of us from this endless spiral."

"How do you plan on doing that, Richard?"

He looks back at his mother, with a resolve in his eyes that he hasn't had in years- a strength that had been pushed down for the past three years, and replaced with an unnatural and unhealthy hope.

"Cleanly, Mother."

AN: I've always thought that Rise (Season 4:1) was the watershed, fork-in-the-road episode for Castle. While Season 4 gave us some of the best shows and stories, I always thought that Castle's response to Beckett in the hospital just wasn't how a successful guy with his personal hell for a personal background would react – even one desperately in love as Castle obviously was. Being honest, I actually took a bit of a hiatus from the show for a few weeks after that episode. I thought Castle had matured from the carefree playboy to an inquisitive and insightful man, dad and son, and in one scene he falls so far down the wuss well that it just wasn't that believable anymore. Fortunately for me, I got over it and started watching again, but as you can see from this story, I never _really got over it_. I hope you enjoy . . . more to come.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 2**

**AN:** Thank you to all of you who dropped your thoughts on the story so far. I don't want to give much away, but I will agree that some of this is out of character and out of canon – but I suppose that is my point here. I've always thought there was more than one way to point these two incredible characters in the right direction, so I hope you enjoy this different journey.

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Day 91: Mid-August 2011**_

It has been roughly three months since her shooting. Three months since she last saw Castle. Now, on this hot, mid-August afternoon, Kate Beckett finds herself standing in the foyer area at Precinct 12, staring at her empty desk in the distance. She smiles briefly to herself. This is home. This is where she belongs, where her friendships have been forged. She stares at her empty desk, and of course, her gaze wanders to the empty chair next to her desk. Castle's chair.

Before she can process things further, her thoughts are interrupted by a break-out of cheers in the precinct, as fellow detectives and officers notice her presence. Three months away from the office is a long time, and even longer under her circumstances. The cheers hearten her further. Even more than the return to her apartment, returning here feels like home. The feeling surprises her. She smiles to her co-workers as she makes her way sheepishly to her desk.

Detectives Kevin Ryan and Javier Esposito are next to her desk, waiting for her. They are smiling, happy to see their good friend, but they are also a bit surprised. She's come back early.

"Hey Beckett, what are you doing here?" asks Ryan. "You can't come back until next week."

"Yeah, well sitting there listening to crickets in my dad's cabin was driving me nuts," she replies with a half-hearted smile.

Esposito offers her a half-mocking smirk. "Ok, you don't have to make excuses", he says. "We know you missed us."

The three detectives meet with their eyes. They've worked together for a long time, and further words aren't necessary. They know each other, they feel each other and immediately – and comfortably – fall into business mode.

"So . . . anything?" she asks them.

Ryan shakes his head. "Still no word."

They discuss the groundskeeper from the cemetery, but they tell her he's a ghost - can't be found. They didn't get any face hits on surveillance, or from license plates. The only good news was finding some DNA samples on the weapon, but unfortunately the good news stopped there. No matches were found in the system. Essentially, they've got nothing. Nada. Zip.

The news is disheartening, to say the least. She had come back hoping for – at a minimum – some clues and solid leads that her friends would have been following up on. Best case? Ok, it would have been a stretch to hope to see the case solved and closed, but she could dream, right?

As it stands, her feelings go from frustrated to somewhat frightened in a quick moment. _There is someone who has tried to kill me . . . and he or she is still out there._ Three months have passed by and they are no closer to finding the shooter, much less who may have hired the shooter. Those helpless and hopeless feelings that she worked so hard at her dad's cabin to obliterate are resurfacing with a vengeance right now.

She walks away from Esposito and Ryan to the break area to get herself a coffee. The guys follow her, making small talk along the way. There's a new captain; Victoria Gates. She learns that they call her Iron Gates, and she cut her teeth in Internal Affairs.

_Oh, that's just great_ she thinks. There's already the sad-to-admit trust issues she is facing after learning the involvement of Captain Montgomery in her mother's case. Roy Montgomery – boss, mentor, friend. He was all of those things to Detective Beckett, and he was much more that she didn't know about until just recently.

So no, having a new boss from Internal Affairs is far from comforting. _This day just keeps getting better_ she thinks to herself. _I came back early for this. Maybe I should have stayed home till next week . . . taken all of my time off_.

Her thoughts – as they return to the desk area - are interrupted as she hears Ryan comment, "She's all by the book, that one."

Kate Beckett takes another glance at the empty chair next to her desk. Castle's empty chair. That explains – and confirms for her - why he isn't here. A no-nonsense, totally-by-the-book captain most likely wouldn't allow for some famous author playing cop. She mentions aloud, to neither of her friends in particular:

"I suppose by the book means no need for our world-famous author tagging along at crime scenes." Both Esposito and Ryan notice her second glance at Castle's empty chair. Becket continues, this time looking at Esposito as she questions him.

"So, how is Castle? I don't' assume he has been around much."

Now it is her friends turn to glance at each other. Neither wants to speak up, and it is as if they don't know where to start. No leads, a new captain, and now she can tell by their hesitation that the bad news isn't over. She repeats her question.

"How is Castle?"

"You don't know?" asks Esposito, still exchanging glances with Ryan as though he might offer some assistance.

"Know what?" Beckett asks.

"Castle didn't call you?" Ryan interjects.

Now she's worried. That butterfly fluttering around the pit of her stomach has just found some friends. She is hoping that her concern isn't showing on her face.

"What's going on?" she asks. "Where is Castle?!"

She's almost demanding now, as she locks eyes first with Ryan and then with Esposito, and then back to Ryan, as both men shrink from her gaze.

"He's gone, Kate", Esposito finally states. "I told you. I thought you understood."

"I don't think he's coming back", Ryan adds.

. . . . . . .

_**First Flashback: 75 Days Ago in Late May 2011**_

It's been just over two weeks since the shooting. Two weeks since he left her - and his heart - in the hospital. The two weeks have been busy.

What could have been – what he would have sworn just thirty days ago would have been his biggest heartbreak has actually become liberating for him. In an instant, with few words and even less emotion, Kate Beckett has set Richard Castle free. That moment of self-awareness when he realized that his feelings for her were – in fact – not reciprocated, was huge. This was a one-way love affair, and as an author he knows how badly those can end. There is rarely a happy ending with these particular stories and when there is, it is far from believable.

The first conversation with his mother that day after leaving the hospital was absolutely cathartic. The second conversation, later that evening, with his high school daughter, was a wee bit more difficult. He's the one who needs the massive life-change, not her. After explaining to her what had happened – and he does this because she is far wiser and mature beyond her years – she surprises him yet again with her maturity and willingness to do anything – anything at all – for the good of her dad.

"I just know I have to get away, Alexis. I have to do something new, something different. I know I can make a difference."

He says this with extreme confidence because he has three things he sees as necessary to impact other people's lives.

First, he wants to. He has that desire. It somewhat surprises him until he thinks back on the past three years.

And that is the second thing necessary - He has life experiences that have shaken him, hit him at his core, and stayed with him.

A young model killed by a boyfriend – who she trusted.

A young nanny killed by a fellow nanny – a friend who she trusted.

A child abduction masterminded by her mother – who she trusted.

The past three years have shown him time and time again the tragic horrors inflicted on women by people they trust – and we aren't even talking about abusive husbands.

It has put something inside him – a desire to do something to help these women before fatal tragedy strikes them – to give them better options.

And then there is that all important third element: Money. This he has in spades. To say that he has millions is an understatement. Money has never been a problem for him, as an adult. Now he thinks he can find something worthwhile to do with his desires, and his experiences, and his money. As he shares these thoughts with his daughter, he can see the proud sparkle in her eyes, as she is watching her dad grow up before her eyes.

"What will you do, Dad?" she asks.

"I'm not sure yet, pumpkin," he responds. "But I have some ideas."

The problem is, what he wants to do will affect Alexis, also. It will affect her big-time. He tells her he needs a change of scenery; more than that, he needs a life-change. And he thinks a change might be good for her also. She has many options for college. Here in the city, across the country on the west coast, and across the big pond. Getting away from New York City and seeing something new might do her good as well. Surprisingly, he doesn't have to fight to make his case. His chin rests on her bright red head as he holds her.

"Thank you, pumpkin," he whispers above her head. "I really appreciate this."

From there, it became a joint on-line research project for the two of them. Since she has wanted to go to Stanford forever, they start looking at private college preparatory high schools in the San Francisco area. They settle on three to go and visit; San Francisco University High School in San Francisco; Crystal Springs Uplands School in San Mateo just south of San Francisco; and Branson School north of San Francisco across the Golden Gate Bridge in Ross.

So this is how they find themselves on this late May afternoon in Palo Alto, outside the Stanford campus at MacArthur Park for lunch. They've just finished touring all three schools and they are discussing her options. It seems that she likes Branson the best. They have an 8-to-1 student/teacher ratio and an average classroom size of 13-14 students. She likes the small nature of the school that has less than 400 high school students. The downside is that it is further away from San Francisco, away from the city. City life is what she knows, what she is comfortable with. But this is a chance for new beginnings for her also, and they both feel the need to separate themselves from the daily hustle and bustle of downtown city-life.

So, as they wait for the check, she opts for Branson. Castle smiles broadly because that was his first choice also. Now instead of living in the city, he can search for a place in Sausalito just north of San Francisco across the bridge. If he's lucky he will find a place with a view of both the bridge and the city. Best of both worlds – and somewhat of a headquarters for what he wants to do for young women in the area.

. . . . . . .

_**Second Flashback: 45 Days Ago in Late June 2011**_

It is just over four weeks later, after their visit to San Francisco. Alexis is now enrolled at Branson for the fall, and Castle has closed on a beautiful cliff home, overlooking the water with a view of both San Francisco city and the Golden Gate Bridge, as he had hoped. Now, back in New York City to wrap things up, he just needs to get rid of the loft, get rid of the Hamptons beach house, even the Ferrari. Clean break, from people, from familiar places, from everything.

He's sitting at the bar three blocks down from the precinct, waiting for Ryan and Esposito to show. He had called them asking them to meet him here once they got off work. He sees them walk in together. It's been roughly six weeks since he last saw them. At the hospital. Visiting her. They are all genuinely happy to see one another.

They sit for a few minutes, after ordering drinks, just shooting the breeze, catching up. Ryan finds it strange that he doesn't ask about Beckett. He nudges Esposito under the table with his knee, and knows that he has noticed also. Esposito, of course, has no qualms about breaking the ice.

"So, have you talked with Beckett?"

"No." Castle leaves it at that.

"Why not?" asks Ryan. Both men are noticeably surprised that he hasn't reached out to talk to her. Not knowing what has transpired between Castle and Beckett, all they can think is that it is unfathomable that Castle hasn't visited her, or hasn't been keeping in touch just to see how she is doing.

"She told me not to call her. She said she would call when she was ready."

"What does 'when she is ready' mean?" asks Esposito.

"How should I know," responds Castle.

Both Ryan and Esposito almost comically lean back in their seats simultaneously. This isn't just unexpected – this is darn near surreal.

"What happened?" asks Ryan.

Castles just shrugs, taking a gulp of his drink. He flags a waitress over to ask for seconds.

Esposito isn't having any of this, of course. He pushes the discussion further, wondering again what happened – this time with a friendly yet firm hand on Castle's shoulder.

Castle glances down at the hand, then at Esposito. Neither man budges. Then Castle says, simply "It's time for me to grow up."

No one speaks for a moment. Each man glances in a different direction, lost in his thoughts. These three have been through much together. Ryan is the first to break the silence.

"This isn't a casual let's-get-a-drink, is it?"

Castle shakes his head.

"So, what are you gonna do?" Esposito asks.

Castle runs his hands through his hair, and smiles softly. He leans in, elbows on the table, and makes eye contact with both of his friends. He's going to miss them. They've been good to him.

"Well, that's why I wanted to see the two of you. You accepted me when you didn't have to. You protected me, you had my back. I know you are loyal to Kate, but you treated me right. You made me feel as though I fit, like I belonged."

Almost as twins, both Ryan and Esposito smile and offer their fists to Castle. He smiles and fist bumps both men. Yeah, he's going to miss them. Still, he then continues:

"You will never know how much that has meant to me. Most of my friends are my friends because of who I am – a celebrated author – or because of what I do. But not you two. You both have been true friends."

Castle then takes an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket, and hands it to Ryan. Ryan opens it, and falls backward. Yeah, he knows this is serious now.

"I can't accept this, Castle. Rick, I can't –"

"You can, and you will. Consider it an early wedding present for you and Jenny. You deserve it. It will be a place to get away, to build family memories."

Esposito is looking over the shoulder at the deed to the Hamptons beach house owned by – no – _previously_ owned by Castle, and now owned by his best friend. Before he can process it, he hears the jingle of keys hit the table in front of him. He looks down at the keys to Castle's red Ferrari that he has always loved.

"No, bro – I can't take this," he refutes, with eyes big and slightly wet. "What the . . . what the hell are you doing, Castle?"

"Clean break," Rick states to both men. He then takes a second envelope out of the other side of his jacket, and places the envelope between both men.

"Floor tickets to the upcoming Knicks season. They're yours. Split them up and enjoy", Castle says with a smile and flourish.

"Where are you going, Castle?" Ryan asks. The magnificent gifts aside, both Ryan and Esposito know this is goodbye. Montgomery is dead, Beckett is on disability healing, and now Castle is going to be gone also. Both men feel the flood of memories overtaking them.

"Away," answers Castle. "Alexis and I need a new start, a fresh start. We're leaving."

Neither Ryan or Esposito can manage a single word right now, so Castle continues.

"I've transferred the loft into mother's name. She's a New Yorker, this is her home, her livelihood is here. But I need to go."

"Where are you going?" Ryan asks again, hoping for an answer. At the same time, Esposito asks the other question on both men's minds.

"What about Beckett?"

"Castle looks at both men, and without missing a beat, responds:

"What about her."

With that, Castle gets up and shakes their hands. Then he pulls both into an embrace that last more than a few seconds.

"I love you guys", he says, and with that, he leaves. He seems bigger than life to both men as he walks out of the door of the bar, and they both feel the pages turning on a big chapter in their lives. They know Beckett is away at her dad's cabin, and they know cell coverage is spotty there, at best. Still, they have to try. Esposito sends her a simple text.

"Kate. Castle is gone."

. . . . . . .

_**An hour later . . . same day**_

At the cabin, Kate has just returned from a hike through the woods, trying to clear her head and re-build her endurance. Physical therapy has been draining on her. A bullet to the heart, and then a chest ripped upon have not been kind to her. As she grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, she hears her phone beep once, indicating a message. Walking over, she notices the message waiting indication on her cell phone.

She idly wonders to herself whether or not he has finally called or texted her. She's disappointed when she sees the text message is from Javi. She reads the message and simply nods her head.

"_Castle is gone_"

Yeah, that would make sense. There's bound to be a new captain there, and this after the previous captain has been murdered and a lead detective almost killed by a sniper at his funeral. And she's not there to take up for him.

_They probably showed him the door_, she thinks to herself. There's no reason to keep him there.

She misses the deeper, intended meaning of the message entirely, and so she simply types a short text message back to Esposito.

"Not surprised. You and Ryan be careful."

Sitting in the bar, Esposito shows the text message to Ryan, who only whistles.

"What in the hell is going on here?!" he asks.

. . . . . . .

_**Back to Present: Day 91, mid-August 2011**_

"What do you mean he's not coming back?" Kate is beside herself. She wasn't expecting him to be there, but she knew he was always close by, always there for her. Seeing his empty seat simply reinforced for her how much he has meant to her.

"When did this happen?" she blurts out. Never in her wildest dreams did she expect Castle to listen to her, and to not call, not text. The fact that she hasn't heard from him is the main reason that she has come back to work a week early. It gives her – in her mind – a reason, a justification to reach out to him. She told him she'd call, and apparently he has been waiting for that call. She meant it when she said she needed time. But by week 2 in the cabin, she already missed him, missed his crazy ideas and theories and eye wiggles. She missed his smirks, his looks of surprise. She figured she would have heard something.

"You have no idea where he's gone?" she asks, panic now finding its way into her voice – but she doesn't' care.

The two detectives shake their heads in unison, and share a quick glance. This isn't going to go well.

"You really never called him?" Ryan asks incredulously. This earns him a sharp glare from Esposito, ever the big brother protecting Beckett.

He's gone. She certainly did not expect him to leave the city. She's been trying to put her broken pieces back together again, but she can feel herself falling apart all over again now. The one person she knew – **she knew** - would be there to help her isn't here. Not only is he not here, but evidently he is gone.

She excuses herself from her two friends, and goes to the ladies room to compose herself. She has seen the new captain through her window. The new captain is a lady, and she has seen her glance her way, probably surprised that Beckett is back early. Beckett needs to make a good first impression. She knows that her stellar reputation likely has preceded her to this new captain, but she wants that perception reinforced with this first meeting. So she finds herself here in the ladies room, holding on to the sink, taking a deep breath.

She gazes at herself in the mirror, gathering strength, and then returns to her desk but the captain's door is now closed and she's on the phone. Kate watches her talking on the phone, and it causes her to think of Castle. She pulls her own phone out and stares at it, then puts it away.

That's when she notices it. Until now, she hasn't noticed the small mailing box on the corner of her desk. It's partially covered by a few papers. That's why she missed it earlier. The size is about right. She knows what this is, and a smile escapes her lips. She knew he would not forget her, and the timing is about right. His new book should be coming out in a few weeks, and he always gave her an advance copy.

She notices the mail stamp, and notices it is from the city, so she smiles with relief. They may not know where he is, but he's still somewhere in the city. She opens the box, and sure enough, there is the book.

Her heart feels as though it is being assaulted again, and she grips her chest as she reads the title of the book: Last Heat – The Final Chapter. The tears are in her eyes as she opens the cover and sees the dedication on the first page.

_For Roy, the extraordinary KB, and my friends at the 12__th__. Thanks for the memories – I will keep them always._

Kate closes the book and puts her head in her hands. First impression or not, she cannot help the tears that begin to flow, or the soft sob that escapes her lips. She quickly gathers her stuff and bolts for the elevator, but then opts for the stairs at the last moment. It would be just her luck to have a lengthy wait at the elevator, and she cannot afford that right now. She's down the stairs and outside the building within a minute, now walking – walking to get away. She walks two blocks down and turns the corner before stopping. Standing next to a hot dog vending stand, she pulls her phone out and finds his contact information, then hits SEND. There is one ring, and then her world comes crashing down.

_We're sorry. The number you have reached has been disconnected, or is no longer in service._

**AN:** I hope you can stay the course. As I said, I believe there are more than one obvious road to lead us home to where we are supposed to be.


	3. Chapter 3

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 3**

**AN:** Thank you to everyone who is reading this story, and for those who have commented. The responses have swayed vastly from positive to negative – and I'm comfortable with that. It's rewarding to illicit a passionate response – good or bad. Apathy is the only thing I would be concerned with. I apologize in advance for this chapter, as there isn't much action, per se. But I do need to lay the groundwork for where I want to take this. Thanks again – and I hope you stay with this.

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Day 93: Mid-August 2011, Sausalito, California**_

Castle sits at his desk in his new cliff-side home office overlooking the San Francisco Bay. He often finds himself staring at the majestic beauty of the aptly named city by the bay. He smiles as he hums the verse in his head, singing aloud to himself

_"When the lights go down in the city - and the sun shines on the bay"_

He drops his gaze back down to the blueprints and architectural designs on his desk in front of him. The plans for the school and neighborhood of safe homes are coming along nicely. Yeah, what he wants to do is daunting. It's way out of his comfort zone. And truth be known, he has his moments of doubt as to whether or not he can pull it off. He has no illusions that he has either the expertise or competency to do this. But - as he tells himself - I can find people with expertise. I can do this.

It's been a busy summer.

The easy part was obtaining the necessary funding to get the project started. A couple of sit-downs with his poker buddies in the writing field kick-started the networking needed to make his pitch to a small group of people he knows personally, or through close acquaintances. The really cool part was including Alexis in the pitch sessions. Presenting his concept to do something to help women and young girls - and then using his way-beyond-her-years daughter to drive certain messages home - turned out to be a master stroke when dealing with his acquaintances. And it was her idea, which made it even better.

Ah, acquaintances.

He is again reminded that he has a lot of acquaintances but only a few real friends. And those true friends he has, he has just cut ties with them back in New York. Okay, so cutting ties might be stretching things a bit. He knows he will run into Esposito and Ryan at some point in his travels back to the east coast. And he doesn't kid himself - he knows he will run into Beckett at some point, some day. If nothing else, Ryan's wedding is coming up early next year - not that far off. He wouldn't miss that for the world. He knows Kate won't miss it either. Being honest with himself, he knows he could seek her out at some point. He just wants - needs - to be ready. He needs to be different.

So much for my clean break, he thinks to himself.

He looks back down at the plans again. The mini-neighborhood will come first, the school second. His idea - okay, his idea with considerable input from Alexis - is really simple. He has seen enough abuse of women in the past few years to last a lifetime. So coming up with the idea of a safe house for these women – for battered wives, abused single women - this certainly isn't new. But Alexis once again demonstrated to him why she is so special, why he is convinced she will make a big difference in the world.

Her idea is on a far grander scale than Castle's original thinking. She has grown up in New York City, so she knows what homeless shelters look like. And she knows what safe houses look like. Instead of just building a 'building', she had a very different vision for what they could do.

"Dad, why does it have to be a cold, small building?" she asked him earlier. "Why does it have to be a shell that has no life or promise? If someone needs to escape, let's give them a HOME to escape to. Not a building, not a room - a home."

They talked about creating an environment where a woman could come by herself or with her kids if she has children. This will be a place that has a kitchenette and a personal bathroom, a bedroom and a small living area. He remembers the excitement that could be tangibly felt back on the east coast in the loft when he, Alexis and Martha started drawing things out on paper. They littered the floor with ideas - it started as an apartment complex, and quickly morphed to small duplexes, then smaller starter units. They settled on units roughly 700-800 square feet per unit.

They talked about how the women would get there. They have to consider that someone may be leaving quickly, without time to pack up anything. She might only have time to get herself and her children out of the home. She might need a quick getaway, and might not have a car. Martha came up with the idea of an easy to remember phone number one could call, which would dispatch a taxi to pick them up, wherever they are. The cab fare would be billed to the foundation, of course. They'd advertise on the Muni buses in the city to begin with. That's where the idea of 1-800-CASTLES came from. And the name of the safe haven would be called The Castles. This – along with the school the blueprints – is going to be his legacy to Alexis. When she graduates from Stanford in five years, he will give this to her. She will make friends and acquaintances in college, and she will find like-minded peers who will want to join her on this journey. They will take his vision so much further than he can dream.

He has already purchased - through his new foundation – the targeted land in the Bay Area with mountain and bay views - and paid a pretty penny for it. The neighborhood of 100 two-story units they will build can house four women and their families per unit, for a total of 400 women and/or families sheltered. He looks at the plans for the heavily-secured, gated community. He's brought Mike, an ex-Marine who worked as security back at his old New York loft building to the west coast with him. He is depending on Mike to recruit a few of his similarly-skilled friends to make up the security team that will undoubtedly be necessary for the neighborhood complex.

Tomorrow, he and Alexis have a meeting with a few local food providers. They are going to be asking them to provide groceries for the complex at a dramatic discount. Later this week, they are scheduled to meet with a few Bay Area technology companies, looking for donations to help fund day-to-day operations. Then Alexis is off to Branson School next week.

He still needs to identify and vet out a few counselors who will stay onsite to teach classes and provide coaching and mentoring. And then there's insurance. He idly runs his hands through his hair. There is still much to do. But it is coming together.

_"I can do this",_ he tells himself yet again.

With good luck and no major hiccups, the safe neighborhood will be ready to go by Christmas, maybe - just maybe – in time to change the fortunes of some unfortunates who could use a break during the holidays. The kid-in-the-candy-store side of him keeps the excitement and enthusiasm front and center with him, knocking down the negative walls of doubt that surface as he considers this project. He's already thinking of how to replicate this vision back on the east coast some day in the near future.

Last Heat is doing well on the charts – better than he might have expected given the fact that he has ended the series. Paula was beside herself.

"How can you purposely kill not one, but two wildly successful series_?"_ she had asked. It doesn't matter. He knows – and she knows – that he will probably write again. But not right now.

His reverie is interrupted by the chirping of his phone. He sees his mother's face appear on his incoming call, and smiles

"Hello mother. What can I do for you this fine day?"

He can almost see Martha smiling on the other end.

"Richard, I had a visitor this morning."

. . . . . . .

_**Minor Flashback - The Previous Evening, New York City**_

Kate Beckett sits in her bed, her back to the headboard propped up by pillows. It has been a hell of a couple of days.

Finding out that Castle has left the city has been a kick in the teeth, for sure. She knew she was waiting too long to call him, to text him, to reach out to him. In hindsight, she should have reached out to him after a few weeks at the cabin when she hadn't heard from him. But then, her not hearing from him over an entire summer wasn't exactly new.

Her thoughts go back to last summer, when she finally had steeled herself to tell him the truth about how she felt, only to watch him leave the precinct with his bitch of an ex-wife/publisher/whatever-the-hell Gina is to him.

Sure, she knows that's not fair entirely, as she had paraded Tom around him - or at least that's probably how Castle took it, and Javier all but confirmed it.

"The guy has got enough research to write fifty books. Look – whatever the reason is – I'm pretty sure it doesn't include watching you be with another guy."

Breaking up with Tom gave her the opportunity to begin things with Castle, if she wanted. Yet she ended up with Josh later that year.

She leans her head back against her pillow, eyes closed to the ceiling.

I waited too long, she thinks again for the hundredth time in the past twenty-four hours.

She is holding Last Heat - his final book in the Nikki Heat series that he has personally sent to her - in her hands, and her tears are burning her eyes as she approaches the final couple of pages in the break-up between Nikki and Rook. She started the book last night and is finishing it now. She's been reading the book for multiple reasons.

Seeing - feeling - his words on the pages somehow makes him seem closer. As she reads the words, she can hear his voice reading the words to her. Her thoughts take her back to the many readings she has sat in on. She smiles as she remembers his reaction to her hot pink dress when she more or less hijacked the end of his reading of Storm Fall at that bookstore a few years earlier, when they had just started working together.

She knows she has messed up. She waited too long and he has given up. "_Bastard",_ she thinks to herself, but she quickly shakes her head.

No, why would he wait? What reason had she given him to wait?

"_As Javi said, how long could I expect him to stick around waiting for me when I'm with someone else?"_

Yet another tear falls, as she continues to play the never-ending and never fulfilling what-if game. And yet again, the real pain of the last day or so resurfaces.

He didn't even say goodbye. How hard would that have been?

_"Okay, how does he say goodbye when I told him to leave me alone for a while. That's not exactly what I said, but that's probably now he took it. And since when does he listen to anything I tell him to do or not do? But he still could have said goodbye. A letter - a note. Is that too much to ask?"_

_"What kind of chicken-shit doesn't even say goodbye?!"_

She turns the last page, reluctantly, knowing that with the final words on the final page, his voice will be gone to her. And that's when she sees it. Taped cleanly to the final page is a single, bent sheet of small stationary.

Her hands are trembling as she touches the stationary, almost afraid to take off the tape and open and read the contents. When she does, she recognizes his handwriting immediately, and the tears begin to fall anew. She wipes her eyes with her bed sheet and pulls the paper from the page and opens it up.

_Kate,_

_I'm an ass for saying goodbye this way, but it's the only way I can manage right now. I am the first to admit after three years you deserve a better goodbye. But after three years we shouldn't have had to say goodbye. You are – and will always be a part of me and I will probably always love you. I'm a better man in so many ways because of you. But I have to go away. The pain of staying on the outside has become too great. Forgive me. _

_There are two roads before you. One is happiness. The other is justice. Choose happiness._

_Castle  
><em>  
>She puts her head in her hands and can only weep. He said goodbye. He gave her a goodbye. He didn't just leave her without some form of closure, without some words to leave with her.<p>

The letter is bittersweet. It gives her both comfort along with a little anger. It's unreasonable for her to have expected him to wait. Totally unreasonable.

But he should have waited.

And she knows he couldn't wait. It's unfair to have expected that. Isn't it?

She reads the letter again, and part of her wants to crumple it up and hurl it across the room. The other part wants to hold it close to her chest, embracing it. Her heart wins out. She picks up the phone, and dials Martha's cell phone. Castle's mother picks up on the third ring.

"Martha, please don't hang up. I need to see you."

. . . . . . .

_**Second Flashback: The Next Morning**_

Martha is in the kitchen grabbing a couple of cups for the coffee that is brewing. Kate finds herself walking around the loft, as if taking everything in for the last time. But even that is too late. All of Castle's belongings are gone, replaced with décor more suited to Martha who now lives there.

"_There's nothing here that even speaks to him ever living here_", she thinks to herself. She gazes out the front window, remembering the view from her few times here. There is a half-hearted smile gracing her face as she thinks back to the days she stayed here after her apartment was bombed. The dinners, the breakfasts, the movies watched.

She walks back past the kitchen and almost sits down, before she sees it on the table next to the front door. It's him.

Okay, it's only a picture of him, but it is still him. He and Alexis – happier times for sure. She picks up the framed photograph, touching his face with her fingers. She is lost in thought when Martha brings her back to the present.

"Here we go – a cup of coffee to start the morning", Martha sing-songs.

Gratefully, Kate mumbles her thanks as she takes the cup, putting the frame back on the table. She and Martha sit on the couch. It's quiet for a minute or so, as Martha has decided to let Kate start the conversation. After all, Kate called for this time together. Kate – on the other hand – is searching for a starting point.

Finally, Martha simply says "Kate – why don't you start at the beginning."

"I read Last Heat. Finished it last night," she begins. Last night had been a sleepless night, and she has been a bundle of nerves the entire way to the loft. When Martha opened the door, it was all Kate could do not to throw herself into her motherly arms. Dear God how she missed her own mother right now, at a time like this.

Martha, to her credit, sees the pain and confusion in Kate's eyes. More than that, she knows Kate's story, and because of that, she knows that what Kate needs right now – more than anything – is a mother; a mother's embrace, a mother's encouragement, and a mother's honest assessment. She's prepared to give all three to Kate this morning, despite the pain that Kate has caused her son. She doesn't hate Kate – she can't – because she knows her son loves the woman, even though he is gone. She knows that – at least for a while – Alexis looked up to her and Kate has been there for Alexis when she has needed advice on a number of occasions. She considers Kate more family than either of her son's ex-wives.

"I can't believe he ended it – he broke them up and sent them their separate ways," Kate continues, talking about Nikki and Rook. Martha puts a hand on top of Kate's hand, and that one simple action opens the gates. Kate is crying, and can barely put a sentence together. Martha sits closer, and simply pulls the detective into her arms, letting her cry. She turns her head so that Kate won't see the tears that threaten to spill from her own eyes.

"I waited too long."

"Yes, you did", says Martha.

Martha's honesty startles Kate for a moment, but then she remembers who she is dealing with. Martha may come across as flighty, and Castle may have had his fun with his cracks about his mother. But both Castle and Beckett know that underneath it all, Martha is rock solid. She's had to be in her life. She doesn't have time to mince words. Kate waited too long. Martha isn't going to placate her by disagreeing.

"What was I supposed to do?" asks Kate.

Martha looks at Kate for a moment – she picks Kate's chin up and forces their eyes to meet and lock. Her gaze is powerful, and it's only because Kate is used to being the one giving 'this look' that she doesn't turn away.

"Did you ever love my son?" Martha asks her.

"More than you know. More than I realized."

"Then why does my son not know this?"

Wow – she certainly gets to the heart of the matter. Kate takes a moment to reach for her cup and take a sip of coffee. The hot liquid provides relief, giving her a respite while she gathers herself to answer.

"Because I never told him."

"Why not?" Martha pushes.

"Geesh, Martha – I don't know! I know this is all my fault. I get it. I know I should have said something, and I didn't, and God help me – I don't know why I didn't." Kate rises from the sofa and starts pacing. She knew coming here and having this conversation was going to be difficult. Had she come here sooner and had this same conversation with Castle, how different would things be right now?

Martha stands up, and moves towards Kate. She takes Kate by the hand, and brings her back to the sofa, motioning her to sit down. Kate does, and Martha takes her place beside her, yet again.

"Two things, Katherine. First – it's not ALL your fault. It never is. You have never told Richard that you love him, while Richard waited until you were lying at death's door before breaking down and telling you that he loved you. Certainly that was epic poor timing on his part – and no timing on your part." She waits for an acknowledgement of comprehension from Beckett, and getting a slight nod of the head, continues on.

"Second – if you don't know why you never told him, or if you simply won't admit why you never said anything, then you have learned nothing from this tragic tale – and that makes all of this even worse, if that is possible."

Kate begins to speak, but Martha cuts her off, raising her hand.

"Let me finish, Katherine, and then you can say all you wish. You never told Richard that you loved him. So that is his reality. That is what he believes. He believes you do not love him. And every relationship with a man that you have had over the past couple of years reinforced that with Richard. He was hopelessly in love with you, and he came to realize that his feelings were not – and would not be – reciprocated. So he left. I believe his words to me were _'I need to set both of us free' _– both of us meaning you and him."

Kate rocks back and forth on the sofa, holding in the sobs that threaten to overtake her. She does not miss the past tense Martha used. "_He was hopelessly in love with you_." Was. Not is.

Martha takes her by the hand yet again, and asks her: "So what will you do now?"

Kate steels her eyes for a brief instant, and squeezes Martha's hands. "I go to him."

"Well, that's going to be difficult."

"Why?" Kate asks. "Where is he?"

"He's in San Francisco. And you cannot go after him there."

"Why not?" Kate asks incredulously. That's the whole point of this conversation: to find him and make him see, make him understand. She knows he still loves her, he said it in his letter in her book. She has to let him know she feels the same way.

"Why not?" she repeats.

"Two reasons," Martha begins, and the ice is back in her eyes. "Richard is different now, Katherine, and so much of that change I know we can attribute to you. Surely you know by now that – for the most part – the playboy image Richard has is simply that – an image." Martha smirks as she adds, "again – for the most part."

"I know that, Martha. I was so wrong about him in the beginning –"

"No you weren't," Martha interrupts. He was – in so many ways – exactly what you thought he was when you first met him. But being with you, living in your world – the real world – has changed him. My son has grown up."

Kate can see the pride in Martha's eyes as she says this. And Martha is being honest. Kate has played a huge role in her son leaving his immaturity behind him.

"Richard is in San Francisco not only to attempt to put distance between himself and you – but to actually do something good with his life and his money. Being with you and seeing the lives that you have to deal with on a daily basis has left a permanent impression on him. He's not interested – at least for the time being – in starting any new characters or writing any new books. He has a project now that he is funding and building that will start to help women who – for whatever reason – feel threatened or unsafe. He has a vision to give them a place of hope."

Kate is staring at Martha now, embarrassed to admit to herself that – once again – Mr. Castle has surprised her with just how misjudged the man is by so many – including her.

"Believe me, Katherine. This is something Richard wants to do, and he needs to do this. He needs to do this so that he can help these women. And he needs to do this so that he can feel that he is putting a much better example in front of his daughter than he has in the past. Alexis knows the loving dad, and she knows the fun-loving playboy. She's seen the more serious side of him with you. Now she is seeing a deeper side that – honestly – none of us knew was there."

Kate finds herself nodding her head in agreement. She can see how Castle would want to put on a new front for her daughter. She can see how he would want his daughter to see a new man, a different man in her dad.

"Katherine – he has to do this – and he can't do it if you are there. You are a distraction to him, Katherine. Believing that he cannot have you was the final piece that pushed him in this direction. Let him walk this out. If you truly do love him – as you say – then you will see the truth in my words."

Before Kate can say anything – in agreement or disagreement, Martha continues with her second point.

"The second reason, Kate, has to do with you. I will never presume to be your mother, and I know Johanna must have been a great mother for you, because what she gave you in a very short time has stuck. Notwithstanding your relationship – or lack thereof – with my son – you are a strong woman. You are a beautiful woman, Katherine. You are making a difference in the lives of so many people."

Martha places her hands on Kate's shoulders, for emphasis.

"We strong women don't run after men, Katherine. We don't grovel. We don't throw everything to the wind, hoping for the best. If you run after him now, he will regret it eventually because you will take his focus away from what he is doing now. When you're around, everything else ceases – his writing, his mother, his daughter –"

Kate winces at these words, ready to challenge them. Martha sees it in her eyes, and bludgeons the challenge with a simple statement.

"He threw himself in front of a bullet for you, Katherine, and he did this in front of his own daughter."

Kate nods with understanding. She desperately wants to have her say – she wants to tell Martha that this is one of the reasons she had been reluctant – no scratch that – she had been _afraid _to tell Castle about her feelings because she could see how he threw everything – even his daughter – to the wind when it comes to her.

"He would regret it, and he would eventually regret you, Katherine. And trust me – you would regret it also. Maybe not right away, but trust me, a strong woman doesn't need to chase a man down. If you and Richard are meant for one another – and God knows I don't have that answer – then someway, somehow it will happen. But it will happen the right way, with the two of you operating on a much more even field – and you will communicate with each other. You will learn to talk about the hard things."

"You have lives to save here, Katherine. You give closure and answers to families in the midst of their most unimagined tragedies. You have found your purpose. Richard – I believe – is finally finding his. Give him a chance to seize his purpose. Give him till the holidays. If you still feel the same come Thanksgiving, then reach out to him. And if you don't feel the same by then, well, it wasn't really real, was it . . ."

Martha stands up, and takes Kate's hands pulling her up as well. The two women embrace, and for a good minute, they say no words. There are no more tears at this point. Martha has said her peace, and Kate is building up her resolve. She's made mistakes – big ones – when it comes to Castle. And she hasn't been alone in that. He's made mistakes as well. One could debate which of them has screwed up more, but does it really matter. In the end, they are where they are.

Martha pulls out of the embrace, with a final warning for Kate.

"You and Richard – yours is a most dysfunctional relationship, Katherine. There is too much baggage, too much hurt and mistrust and misconception."

"So do we just quit? I can't Martha – I can't just turn feelings off", Kate counters.

"Nor would I expect you to do so. Neither can my son. But nevertheless, the baggage, the hurt, the pain, the mistrust – it is all too very real, Katherine. Richard leaving gives the two of you a chance to . . . a chance to reset. To hit the restart button. To come back at a different time to try again. Go to him now and the two of you will burn hot and brightly – but all too briefly. It won't last. Give him – and you – time to heal."

With that, the door is open. Martha has been guiding Kate to the door as she speaks. She leaves her with an offer that Kate intends to take her up on. "It would be nice, Katherine to do this regularly. Maybe lunch every week."

Kate smiles, and it is a heartfelt smile. She didn't know what to expect when she came here. After all, Martha is Castle's mother. The key word being 'mother' – Kate is not oblivious to the fact that Martha has willingly played that role for her this morning. She will not forget this.

"My weekends are best – would Saturdays work?" she offers.

"Saturdays it is" smiles Martha, shutting the loft door.

Kate nods, walks out the door, not looking back. Martha is right. She could go and search for Castle now – and she'd find him. She's a cop, she has her resources and she has her ways. But Martha is right. If she saw him now, she'd probably jump him on the spot – they'd have the kind of passionate sex she suspects they both have often thought about, expectantly. It would be incredible, as she told him after their first case. But in the end, the hurt, the mistrust, the – dysfunction was a good word – the pain would all still be there. A romp in bed – no matter how majestic – wouldn't change that.

More, Martha's words sounded like something her own mother would have told her had she still been here. _We don't chase after a man, Kate. They won't appreciate you as much as you deserve if you do the chasing_.

She rides down the elevator, and walks out into the morning Manhattan sun. She raises her hand to call for a cab, when her phone rings, and she sees Ryan's name appear.

"Beckett," she says, opening the cab door.

"Got a body. Times Square. Broadway and West 43rd."

Yeah, she has lives to save. There is closure she can bring to a family.

"On my way – see you in 10" she says, hanging up. She scrolls through her contacts, and pulls up Castle's contact screen, with his now disconnected cell number. But she simply wants to see his face. She puts her forefinger to her lips, and places it on his picture, then snaps the phone shut and barks out to the cabbie:

"Broadway and West 43rd, and hurry please."

**AN:** I hope to get the next chapter up in the next couple of days. I struggled a bit with how to portray Martha. Clearly she is loyal to her son; but for that reason I could also see her having this conversation with Beckett, who clearly needs a maternal figure in her life. Again – I thank all of you for following this story.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 4**

**AN:** Given what is happening in the NFL these days, I guess this storyline is somewhat coincidental. Sad to say, it is always relevant, and happens far too often. Honestly, though, I had this outlined long before recent events reared their ugly heads. Hope you stay with me on this.

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Labor Day Weekend, September 2011, Marin Headlands, California just east of Sausalito**_

The early morning fog rolled in off the mountains toward the Golden Gate Bridge, finding Richard Castle walking the grounds along the mountainside in the Marin Headlands. Located just north of San Francisco across the Golden Gate Bridge and immediately due east of his home in Sausalito, the Marin Headlands offer government-protected parks and wildlife, access to protected beaches, fantastic views and is home to a number of non-profit organizations. The Muir Woods protected redwood forest lies in this area, granting access to Muir Beach.

His mind travels back to yesterday, and his walk along Muir Beach. He still has to get used to Northern California Pacific waters. From his former home in the Hamptons he could run right into the Atlantic surf and spend hours in the water. His attempt to do so at Muir Beach last exactly forty five seconds - he made it up to his lower calf muscles before his body screamed at him to get out of the freezing water. He laughs to himself, remembering the cold water nearly knocking him senseless, and again wonders aloud what fun is there to swim in a wetsuit on a beach.

_"Maybe the people who have lived here all their lives can swim in these ice waters, but not me_", he had thought to himself.

He chuckles at the memory of walking along the surf and coming to the large rocks and boulders along the northern side of the beach. After making his way around the large rock structures, he was taken aback with the sight of an older man standing on a smaller group of rocks.

_"My God, that man has no clothes on_", He had smirked to himself. Then he became aware of everyone in the area. _"Good grief, no one has clothes on here."_

Unbeknownst to him, he had stumbled past the public area to the clothing-optional area. Men, women, even children - of all ages - were frolicking along the beach, au natural, throwing frisbees, walking their dogs, and laying in the sun.

Upon seeing the various people at the nude beach, his thoughts had invariably wandered to Kate Beckett, and he'd found himself idly wondering how Beckett would look sans clothes, laying in the sand, a brisk wind from the ocean nipping along her gorgeous . . .

With a shudder, he'd literally slapped himself back to reality. Nothing good could come of thinking about her right now, much less fitting her into a fantasy at a nude beach.

Still, it had been a nice visual, even if it had only been in his imagination . . . as usual.

He pushes the memories of yesterday out of his mind, and focuses back on the beginning of the construction laid out before him. Of the 25 housing structures planned, he sees that the foundation has been poured for roughly half a dozen of them, along with the administrative building. The paved road that winds through the complex was completed last week, preparing the way for construction to begin in earnest.

The honking of a car corn startles him back to the present, as Mike Monroe pulls up to the first row of structures where Castle is walking.

"Hey Castle," Mike hollers getting out of the open, old style jeep. Three other people pile out along with Castle's security chief, and Castle recognizes the sharp, military presence in each of them.

"Hey Mike. Glad you could make it this morning," Castle responds. "Let's meet your friends"

Mike quickly makes introductions for everyone as they gather around Castle who has come alongside the jeep.

"Castle, this is Dawn Harrison, Lindy Matthews and Colin Alexander. Guys, this is Rick Castle – world famous author, good friend and recent humanitarian", he adds with a chuckle.

"You forgot ruggedly handsome," Castle smirks, wiggling his eyebrows.

There is polite laughter all around, as Mike's friends each shake hands with Castle. Mike is last, and he wraps Castle up in a bear hug with his massive 6'5 frame. Not many people can do that with Castle, but Mike is a fairly big and intimidating man. This was useful back in Manhattan, and Castle knows it will be useful and likely necessary here. With potentially a hundred or so women and potentially their families in place at any time, they have to account for the possibility of hostile boyfriends or husbands.

Mike continues, "Along with me, they will head up our security force. We'll have a few other people we are bringing on as well, primarily for the entry and exit gates, but the four of us will be roaming the complex, in shifts."

Castle immediately likes the idea of Dawn and Lindy - having two women on the security force, protecting those at the complex. According to Mike, all three come with vast military - and combat - experience. Hopefully it won't be necessary, but he has to be prepared for those potential contingencies, nevertheless.

"So these are going to be the safe homes," Lindy asks aloud.

"They seem kind of small," added Colin, as he walks onto the foundation of one of the yet-to-be-constructed buildings.

Before Castle can respond, Mike chimes in. "New home buildings always look too small at this stage. I remember when my parents built their home in Texas all those years ago, and we all were walking along the property as the structure was just going up. It looked so much smaller than the plans, but once the walls came up, then it looked right."

"Same thing happened when I built my beach home in the Hamptons years ago," Castle added. "These will be fine. They will be fine temporary homes for the ladies."

"How long will they be staying again?" asked Dawn as she walked purposely back and forth across one of the foundations with Lindy.

"Each family can stay up to 180 days," Castle responded. "There's no cost to them, and we provide all of the food for them to cook, and a laundry-mat in each building. This way they can try to get into as normal a routine as possible, while they get themselves back together. It also gives us plenty of time to help them find a new place when they leave."

"180 days seems like a long time," commented Colin. "That's half a year."

"It was my daughter's idea," Castle smiled. "We don't want anyone to feel rushed. If someone comes here, then that means they have just been through something pretty traumatic and possibly life-threatening. We don't want them to feel like this is a cattle line."

Colin and the women nod their heads in agreement. Then Mike speaks up, continuing Castle's thoughts.

"When Castle first mentioned this concept to me, I liked the idea that a woman who feels threatened would have a place to go - not just for the night or a weekend - but a place to settle into and recuperate. A place she could rest up and begin to heal."

"And that's why I love this guy," Castle says as he pulls Mike's shaved black head down to him, kissing the top of his forehead.

Castle knows that Mike's mother had been a victim of domestic abuse. He knew Mike had seen his mom punched around a few times before she gathered a then twelve year-old Mike and his younger sister Maddie one night when his dad was working late, and hopped in the car. They left Dallas, Texas that night, never to return. Mike eventually grew up, graduated, and went into the Marines. He'd never seen his father again after that night. Perhaps that was one reason Mike had taken such a protective liking to Alexis, always watching out for her when they were all back east.

"Each home will have a bedroom with a queen size bed, and a bathroom and kitchen. The small living area has a fold out couch, in case our resident is bringing children, and we can always move in roll-a-way beds if necessary," Castle says.

"So, there will be a hundred of these buildings?" asks Lindy. "That's a lot for this space here."

"No," Castle corrects. "We have room for one hundred _families_. There will be twenty five buildings, with each building able to house up to four women and their families. Each building will have four small homes. If you look around, you will see that we have 80 acres at our disposal here – so we have plenty of room."

Castle has unrolled one of the blueprints that he had rolled up under his arm. He lays it out across the hood of the jeep, while the four people who will make up his security team gather around for a better view of the blueprints.

"You can see here in the plans that we will have a twelve-foot rod-iron fence around the entire 80-acre property. There are two gates, one on the southeast corner and one of the northwest side, nearer to the ocean. The each gate will be manned and monitored, much like you have shared with me how the access gates work at military bases, Mike." He glances at Mike as he speaks, and Mike steps forward, pointing to an area on the blueprint.

"Right, Castle. The main gate will be here on the southeast corner. This is the primary entry point off the main road that eventually connects us to Bunker Road and then back to 101. That's how our families will get here – most often coming up from the south along 101 from the city."

Dawn nods her head, and asks aloud: "I assume the front gate is where deliveries for food and personal supplies for our families will occur."

"Yes," comments Castle. "Each automated gate will be manned. There will be a double-code entry. You enter the security code, and then you'll slide your security card. The code – which is 41319 – will arm the gate to open or close, and then your card key will document for us who is coming and going. It's a bit of a pain, the extra step, but Mike was telling me –"

"No, no," interrupts Lindy. "That's smart. It's too easy for someone to lift a card key. But if you have to know the code to arm the gate as well as have a card key, well, as I said – that's just smart."

"And no one will have this master code except for the four of you, your security people at the gate, my daughter and myself," Castle says. "No one else needs to have this code – anyone and everyone else will be buzzed in at the gate by our gate security people – no exceptions."

"Twelve foot fences – that's pretty tall though," comments Colin. "I hope it's not going to be too imposing for our guests."

Castle nods in agreement. "I know the fences might make this seem like a camp, but I really worry about security – as does our insurance company, by the way, who is making a pretty penny on this endeavor. We'll make sure there is nice landscaping, and we can certainly take advantage of the natural trees and coverage. It will look nice."

"_It's a good plan,"_ Castle thinks to himself. Each woman or family will have up to six months, rent-free, hopefully relaxing and gathering themselves. He plans on having counselors on-site, teaching classes and offering both group and personal counseling. Dawn and Lindy will be offering personal defensive training for all of the women who stay at the facilities. There will be a couple of vans to shuttle people to the bus routes in Sausalito, which in turn will get them to the BART system for those who have jobs back in the city. Of course, if someone brings a car with them, then all-the-better.

He's still unsure of one thing, however. He does not want this facility to turn into a revolving door, with a woman coming from a bad situation, staying and collecting herself, then going back to that same situation, having the same thing occur, and then having to come back. He recalls his conversation with Martha before he left the east coast.

"At some point, darling, you have to hope that your safe haven causes real change. Change either in the man who has caused the problem, or change in the woman who has been victimized so that she opts not to go down that path with the same man over and over again", she had said.

Her words spurred Castle to decide to bring on counselors full-time, so that the women would have someone to talk to, someone to potentially coach them through their rough patch of life. He didn't want them to do it alone, and he didn't want it to become a cycle they would be stuck in. No, he certainly isn't an expert on this, but he thinks the vision will work.

"_It's going to work,"_ Castles tells himself yet again. _"It has to."_

. . . . . . .

_**Sunday - Labor Day Weekend, September 2011, New York City**_

Kate Beckett sits in a booth in the restaurant, waiting for Lanie to show. The city Medical Examiner had called a few minutes earlier, telling her she was on her way. While waiting, Beckett sips a glass of ice water, staring out the window, watching New Yorkers passing by in droves.

Yesterday, she'd had her third weekend lunch in a row with Martha. They'd had a nice time at Ellen's Starlight Diner, eating burgers and listening to the singing waiters and waitresses. She had to laugh when Martha suggested the diner. And she'd laughed long and often as she and Martha found themselves occasionally singing along to some of the songs – of course, Martha more than Kate.

They've been alternating who picks the venue for their lunches, and a musical drop like the Starlight Diner was certainly very Martha-esque.

She has a strong sense of calm today. It's a very welcome respite from the past month she has had. Recovering from a gunshot to the heart was bad enough – but no, that wasn't enough. She had to lose the man she finally admitted she was in love with along with that. But that, too, was not enough, evidently, as the fates seemed to continue to conspire against her. She continues staring out the window, but is taken back to her phone conversation of a week and a half ago, at her apartment.

_**Flashback to just over a week earlier in New York City - Kate's Apartment**_

Kate sits on her sofa, newspaper in hand. The morning sun has brightened her living room area, and she's enjoying a cup of coffee to start the morning off right. She's looking forward to lunch tomorrow with Martha down at The Counter on Broadway. Next weekend is Martha's choice, and she's already told Kate they are going to the Starlight Diner. The first lunch – last week – was wonderful. She had been both looking forward to it as well as apprehensive. As it turned out, they had a wonderful hour or so just chatting and really getting to know one another. Most of what they had known about each other was through their common thread – Castle – so learning the little things about each other had turned into a fun and all-to-brief afternoon.

She's interrupted by the ringing of her phone. It's an unknown number, but being a cop, she can't summarily ignore it.

"Beckett", she answers, idly twirling a lock of hair between her fingers.

"Detective Beckett, my name is Mr. Smith. I was an associate – rather, I was a good friend of Captain Roy Montgomery."

"What can I do for you, Mr. Smith – if that is your real name", Beckett counters. Somehow, the hairs on the back of her neck have bolted to attention. Apprehensively, she listens as 'Mr. Smith' explains the reason for the phone call.

"Actually, it is what you can do for yourself, Detective," Smith says. "I don't have much time, so I need for you to listen, and listen well. It's no secret that your life has been in danger. I'm very sorry that you were shot before the summer. I won't pretend to insinuate that I understand what you have gone through. I _am_ here to tell you, however, that history does _not_ have to repeat itself."

With that, Beckett leans back into the sofa, almost for protection. She's not sure where this is going, but she has an idea she's not going to like this – no, not one bit.

"Captain Montgomery cared a great deal for you, Detective. Enough to send me a package – a package that, let's say, has some very damning evidence against some powerful people. Evidence that these people do not want to see come to light. Evidence that – if you so choose – can put an end to the stalking, the hunt that has been in place for you."

"What are you talking about, Mr. Smith," she says – the feeling of dread rising ever more slowly in her chest, causing her to tighten and clench just enough to have a quick, but dull pain in her chest.

"This evidence stays with me. I have, ah – informed – the people behind this that I have this evidence, and I have promised them that this evidence stays in the dark. But they have to call off their hunt for you. That was the deal Roy left me to make. Evidently, Roy knew he was at the end of his rope, and his life."

"How can I –" Kate begins to ask, but is interrupted by Smith.

"Again, I'm sorry Detective, but as I said, I do not have much time. Know this – they have agreed to call off the hunt – you are out of danger now – that is what Roy was hoping for. That is what Roy gave his life for. But I had to give a little as well to make this truce. You have to drop your mother's case, and you have to stop looking for those who shot you."

"You can't be serious," Kate interjects, angry now. How dare he –

"Detective Beckett, I am serious as a heart attack –"

The words are out of his mouth before he can catch himself. Not the best choice of words, he knows, given what she has just come through.

"Are you trying to be funny, Smith? Because you are falling woefully short, let me tell you –"

"My apology, Detective," Smith sighs. "An unfortunate slip, and a thoughtless one. Please forgive me. But please also know, I am deadly serious, and so are these people. Please, detective – think for a moment – hold your thoughts, and just listen to me."

Though angry, Kate stands up and begins pacing her apartment. This could be a prank, but it is probably not. And if it's not, then this is someone who clearly – clearly – knows what is going on and who is behind everything that has ruined her life. She needs to play this correctly. If she does, she might be multiple steps closer to those she desperately needs to find. Before these thoughts can complete themselves, however, she finds herself remembering the last words Castle has written to her, on the piece of stationary she keeps on the nightstand next to her bed.

_There are two roads before you. One is happiness. The other is justice. Choose happiness._

She hears Smith talking, and realizes that she hasn't heard what he has just said. Almost with a panic, she interrupts him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith – my mind – as you can imagine – is running a hundred miles an hour. Can you repeat that, please?"

"Certainly," he replies. "Please understand that these people can get to you, any time they please. They can get to anyone. And they can get close to you. Coonan was in your station – at your request – but don't think for a moment that he wasn't _exactly_ where he wanted to be at that moment!"

He lets that sink in, then continues.

"John Raglan tried to help you, and he is gone. Shot with you literally at the same table as he. Roy Montgomery – _my friend_, Detective," he says forcefully, "he tried to protect you, and now he, too, is gone. These people can strike at whom they want, when they want. I admit you have had some success holding them off, and you've taken a few of them out. Very impressive, actually. But you've also been a centimeter and a couple of minutes of heavy traffic from being in the ground yourself."

He waits for Kate to say something, and when he is greeted with silence, he knows two things: first, he has her full attention, and second, she is starting to understand.

"Raglan, Roy, and an attempt on your life. These people will not stop, if you keep the battle going, Detective. They won't just kill you – they will go after your friends. They'll go after your fellow detectives, perhaps your father. They'll go after your writer colleague, Mr. Castle – or perhaps his family. Do not under-estimate them, Detective. Roy has given you a second chance. I hope you take it. Back off. Close your investigation. I know what I am asking is unreasonable, Detective – but these are unreasonable times. You are fighting against someone who does not care who becomes collateral damage, and they would – I dare say – rather enjoy making some collateral damage. If my friend Roy was even remotely accurate of his assessment of you, I would think that is something you would not be able to live with – or die with."

For a few seconds, there is no talking. Smith can't even hear if Beckett is breathing on the other end. Ironically, on that other end, Beckett has caught herself literally holding her breath as she stands next to the large window in her apartment.

"I will leave you with this, Detective," Smith concludes. "I have no doubt that if you continue your fight with these people, that you will inflict continued damage on them. But I also know that loved ones around you will start dropping like flies. Had Roy's package reached me in time, you would not have been shot. Had you not been getting closer, Roy would still be alive. This could have been over then. As it is, the documents did not reach me in time, and you have suffered greatly for it."

"_You have no idea,"_ Kate thinks to herself.

In just a flash of a few seconds, Kate knows what she has to do. Whether she backs off or not, she must at least tell Smith she is backing off. She cannot put her fellow officers – and her friends – back in the crossfire. And now, with Smith's admission, it is clear and without doubt that 'in the cross-hairs' is precisely where everyone she loves is – and has been – for who knows how long.

Her quest for justice, her thirst for vengeance, has carried a heavy toll. People are dead, people have been injured, people have moved on and away – because of her single-mindedness to her quest. For a split second, she damns Castle yet again for opening her resolve to finding her mother's killer. She had told him, back three years ago that she couldn't do it; she couldn't go down that rabbit hole again because she'd almost lost herself. But go down it again she did – and now look at the cost.

"I understand, Mr. Smith", she finally sighs, barely audible. But he has heard her. He thanks his stars that she has come to this decision.

"What I have asked you is not fair, Detective. I will be the first to admit that. But Roy's death is not fair either. And the fact that I will forever now, have to cover my tracks and make sure that my identity never becomes known to our mutual adversary – well that is not fair either. Not to me, and certainly not to my family."

He lets those words settle with her. She recognizes that the lives of people which now mingle together on this dark quest are far more than she has ever realized. And while she has dual feelings about Captain Montgomery's involvement in her mother's case, yet another tear chases down her cheek, as she realizes yet again that were it not for her, were it not for her quest – Roy would be alive. She would not have been shot. Castle would still be here. Life would be very different.

No, it isn't fair. But what can she do?

"Thank you, Mr. Smith. I don't suppose I will hear from you again."

"If you do," he warns, "then we both are likely in very grave danger, Detective."

With that, Smith clicks off. Beckett is left holding her phone to her ear. She hits the END key, and walks back to the sofa, and tosses her phone on the coffee table as she sits back down. She has told him she will back down, and deep in her head, she knows she must do exactly that. It is selfishness of the highest order for her to continue this fight when so many others are in the firing line.

"_It's not fair,"_ she sobs to herself, hands in her head, elbows on her knees. _"They just get away. It's not fair."_

. . . . . . .

_**Back to the Present: Sunday - Labor Day Weekend, September 2011, New York City**_

Kate's thoughts of her phone call with Smith are interrupted as she sees Lanie slide into the seat across the booth from her. So deep in thought was she that she completely missed Lanie coming in.

"Girl, _where_ is your head at?" Lanie questions. "I was standing right in front of you, at the window, waving at you and you looked right through me! I gotta tell you, that's pretty creepy there, Kate."

Beckett laughs, grabbing the medical examiner's hands.

"It's good to see you, too, Lanie." Both women laugh, as a waiter places a glass of water on the table for the new arrival, asking her drink order.

"Lemonade, please – lots of ice," Lanie requests. Then she looks at her friend with a wide smile. "So – that was some case there, wasn't it!"

Kate's thoughts are taken back to the previous days, as she and Esposito and Ryan had just solved a gruesome murder that – in multiple moments of dark humor – had the detectives chuckling to themselves numerous times.

A vigilante style killing – complete with surveillance footage of someone in a superhero costume? Even though he was gone, their writer friend was top of mind to all three detectives as well as Lanie during the case.

"You just know writer boy would have _loved_ that case," smiled Lanie with that devious grin that told Kate she had something on her mind. "I mean, it's not every day you see a man split in half."

Kate chuckled out loud, telling her friend "I know this is dark, but I could just hear Castle saying something awkward, like 'this guy is half the man he used to be'". Both women laugh out loud, and Lanie catches Kate – for just a brief second – with a forlorn glance out the window – but just as quickly, she is back, with a sparkle in her eyes. Back engaged in their conversation.

"So – you aren't going to tell me that you didn't reach out to him to talk to him about this one," Lanie asks.

Kate shakes her head, and Lanie's expression is one of faked surprise – followed by a knowing smile. Lanie knows Castle has left, and she also knows that her best friend at the table is having weekly chats with his mother. More, truth be told, Kate Beckett seems to be holding up far better than Lanie or the boys would have guessed. She guesses that Kate and Castle are having some kind of chats – phone, video calls, emails, texts, sexts, something. They just have to be.

"I know that look, Lanie," Kate interrupts, "and I don't even want to know what you are thinking."

"You look good, Kate. You really do. I'm just so pleased you are doing so well, considering –"

She stops herself from continuing, but Kate smiles, and continues for her:

"- Considering the man I love has bolted to the other side of the continent. Is that what you were going to say?" she asks with just a hint of false menace that has Lanie giggling.

"Yeah, considering that," Lanie agrees. "What I don't get is how easily, how readily, how frustratingly simple you find it to say you love writer boy, now that he is gone. Where was that revelation for the past couple of – oh, I don't know –_ years_ maybe?!"

"I know," Kate replies, and this time the sadness that reaches her eyes is real. "I know. I wish I could have said it to him, while he was here. And God knows, I had so many chances."

"Well, you know what they say –"Lanie interjects, but Kate all but pounces on her before she can complete her sentence.

"Lanie, I swear, if you say anything that even remotely sounds like _'you don't know what you've got until it's gone'_, I am going to pull my gun out and shoot you in the foot!"

Lanie makes a point to take her fingers and make a zipping motion horizontally across her mouth, and both women laugh again.

"I miss him, Lanie."

"I know you do, honey," she agrees. "So, do you have any idea what he's up to? What has Martha told you?"

Kate begins to relate the project for abused women that Castle is sponsoring and spearheading out on the west coast. As she describes it – as best she can, given the information that Martha has given her – Lanie's eyes get bigger, then bigger, then bigger still – matched only be the ever-increasing smile on her face. When Kate has finished, both women stare at each other with glistening eyes.

"I miss him, too, Kate."

"We all do, Lanie. We all do."

"Well, he is over there saving lives, and you are over here saving lives. Looks like more of you rubbed off on him than any of us would have expected," Lanie offers. "But, too bad other things weren't rubbing off as well," she laughs, and Kate reaches over and slugs her in the arm – hard.

"He'd be proud of you, Kate. You're recovering, and you're doing so wonderfully. Castle would be happy for you. He'd be proud."

"I know he would, Lanie. And he'd be proud of some of the choices I have made," she says, as she once again smiles to herself, telling herself _"I choose happiness . . . at least for now."_

The two women order their meals, and continue with their light-hearted banter over lunch. Afterwards, Beckett heads out to meet up with Ryan and Esposito, who have some new developments on a weird case at a pharmaceutical company working on extending life. _"Castle would like this one, too," _she finds herself thinking as she climbs into the cab.

. . . . . . .

_**Later that night…**_

It's almost midnight, when Kate drags herself into her apartment. She and the boys just wrapped up their current case. Earlier that evening, Cynthia Hamilton killed herself with a cyanide pill she had hidden in her ring, right at the precinct, in a holding cell. They had learned earlier that Cynthia had killed her husband in a crime of love, wanting the pharmaceutical company to take his body now, before the cancer that was killing the researcher attacked his brain. They believed they could be together in the afterlife – right up to the end.

She drops her phone on the nightstand, kicks her shoes off, and hangs her jacket on the bedpost at the foot of her bed. Normally one to put things away, normally one for order, she's just too damn tired right now. She unbuttons her blouse, and tosses it on top of her jacket, wiggles out of her slacks, and without hesitation, climbs into bed in her bra and panties. No night shirt, no shower – she just wants to escape from this particular day.

She lies in her bed, and grabs her cell phone from the nightstand next to her bed. She opens the phone, goes to the contact list, and pulls up Castle's name. His picture appears, and she smiles sadly. She recalls her words to Ryan a couple of hours earlier, as he had asked her if she thought Cynthia and Lester would be reunited in the afterlife, as they had wished.

"That's what great love stories are about, right? Beating the odds," she had responded.

As she does every night, she places a kiss on her forefinger, and then touches Richard Castle's face with her finger. She closes her phone, and turns the light out, and says out loud –

"That's how Castle would write us – as a great love story." She closes her eyes and falls asleep.

Unknown to her, at roughly the same moment, at just after 10pm on the west coast, Richard Castle is shutting his lights off in his bedroom, and is climbing into bed for an early evening – at least early for him. It has been a busy day with his security crew today, and he has a free day tomorrow – Labor Day – but then a busy morning on Tuesday with city inspectors coming to look at the property. As he lays in the dark, he takes out his phone, and pulls up Kate Beckett's contact information – as he has every night for the past couple of weeks.

He touches her face on his display, and closes the display, then closes his eyes.

"Thank you for taking care of me . . . please take care of her, too." He falls asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 5**

**AN:** Please accept my apologies for the delay. My family and I have spent the last week+ moving. Never a fun thing to do, but the end result – a new home - is worth it. As many of you, I am looking forward to the season opener next Monday. For now, back to 2011. Thank you for all of the comments and follows.

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Late October, 2011, New York City**_

Kate Beckett looks at her watch. Dr. Burke offers a smile, as he watches her absently twirl her fingers through one of the curls cascading down in front of her shoulder.

"I take it you have some place better to be, Kate?"

"No, I'm sorry Dr. Burke," she counters, dropping her hair and putting her hands back into her lap as she leans back into the couch, her legs crossed underneath her.

"I guess there was just a lull in our conversation, and I was wondering if our time was up" she says.

To be honest, her sessions with Dr. Burke have been going well, and she is doing well herself. Today's session has been fairly free-spirited. She doesn't hold much back from the doctor, save for some details regarding a certain Mr. Smith. However, she did tell him weeks ago that she has taken a hiatus from her mother's case. He had found this information a pleasant surprise.

"I know some day, somehow, I will catch the break I need, and I will be able to put whoever killed my mother away, and put this chapter of my life behind me" she had told him at that time.

Today, he has surprised her by asking about her mother's case, knowing that she supposedly has put this on the back burner. She is surprised by his questioning, and even more surprised by her continued calm reaction.

"Not yet, Kate", Dr. Burke responds. "We still have some time, and I'm still curious how you are doing, not working your mother's case anymore. The lull is in your case workload, as you have mentioned to me."

She nods her head, still smiling. She's feeling good – all things considered.

"Thankfully, things have been somewhat quiet. We did just finish the Sinclair murder case. Castle would have –"

She stops herself in mid-sentence. Then glancing at Dr. Burke, who only nods his head, smiling himself, she continues.

"Castle would have loved that case. A real-life ghost-buster dies in a creepy house where there have been numerous murders in the past? He would have had a field day with this one," she continues, an almost wistful look in her eyes for just a second. Then it's gone, replaced by that smile that seems ever-present with her today.

"Who you gonna call", Dr. Burke whispers under his breath.

Kate laughs and finishes the sentence for him. "Ghost-busters", she laughs.

"You're doing well today, Kate. Well in fact, for the past month or two. I'm so pleased to see you content, at peace with yourself. You've been on quite the journey."

"I know", she agrees. "I'm in a . . . a decent place right now."

"I agree", says Dr. Burke. "So . . . your mother's case", he smiles, bringing them back to topic.

"Aren't you the broken record."

"I do try", he responds.

For a few seconds, neither says a word. Dr. Burke waits her out – looking at her with his typical calm and endearing expression. Waiting her out . . .

"It's surprising, I guess", she finally says, breaking the silence. "You know about the murder board I told you I keep at my apartment – the board for my mom. I haven't looked at it. I haven't opened it up for over a month now."

She glances out towards the window for a few seconds, then looks back at the doctor who still sits, still waiting her out – waiting to hear exactly how she has managed to – seemingly easily - bury the demons that have driven her for so long. He knows nothing is _that_ easy.

"It has taken me a while to come back from all of this, you know?" she offers.

"Of course it has. I don't mean to be flippant, but even in your line of work, it's not like you get shot every day in the manner you were shot."

"No, it's not", she agrees. Her smile has left her, and in its place is a different expression – one that the doctor can't quite place – not yet.

"When I came back – after I recuperated, after I got myself physically ready to jump back into the fray, something happened. I walked into the precinct, and Roy was gone. Castle was gone. I started thinking about the people who have died over my mom's case – and often these people die right in front of me."

She finds herself stronger than she would have imagined as she discusses these things. There are no tears, no histrionics. Oh, there have _been_ tears, yes. But she surprises herself with the inner strength she has found in the past month or so. She's always been a fighter. And now, with her captain taken away from her, with the man she loves stepping away from her, she responds in a way that surprises her. She responds with strength and a resolve that she forgot she possesses.

Yeah, even going through intense sadness, the last month has been good for her. In many ways.

"The costs were adding up, and the bodies were piling up, and I just didn't see it, I didn't allow myself to see it. Nothing was more important than getting justice – maybe it was getting revenge – I don't know anymore. But stepping back and seeing Roy gone, seeing Castle gone, realizing that any of my friends could be next –"

"And that's why you put it away, Kate?" he asks.

"I had to. I had to. The approach I was taking wasn't working. It was getting people killed. People close to me. Hell, it almost killed _me_. I can't keep doing the same thing, over and over again. I warned Castle years ago that I couldn't pick up my mom's case again, for that very reason. I get lost in it, and I lose sight of everything else . . . everyone else."

"Do you blame Richard for this, Kate?"

"Oh gosh no. No", she exclaims, with some frustration. "I suppose I did for a while. I had asked him to let it go, let it go – but in the end, _I_ should have done what I told him to do. Even when he brought me leads, I should have been strong enough to let it go. I knew where this would end up."

"I really like where you are right now, Kate. It's amazing to see you grasp and embrace something that it takes most people a lifetime to master."

"And what is that?" she asks.

"Have you ever heard the quote from Albert Einstein about change?"

"Geesh, doc. Pop culture now?" Kate replies.

Dr. Burke laughs. She likes when he laughs. There wasn't much laughter going on here on his couch months ago, when she was just stepping back into the fold.

"No, Kate. I wouldn't throw the old 'do you know the definition of insanity' at you. But Einstein often said the same thing, offered the same concept, but with different words. Sometimes how you say something, how you ask a question can be all the difference in the answer you get."

"So enlighten me, good doctor," she smiles, and they both chuckle a bit.

"Here's what he said," Dr. Burke continues. "Now understand we are talking about change – we are talking about why it is necessary to do different things sometimes."

Kate nods her head, so he continues again.

"Einstein said that a problem cannot be solved with the same consciousness that created it."

He lets that sit, lets it permeate a bit, watching her eyes for a flicker of understanding. Then he pushes forward.

"It is why the programmer doesn't QA his own software. It is why the author of a book doesn't edit her own work. Sometimes we are just too close to our own creation to see the forest for the trees. So we bring another person in to take a fresh look. But sometimes, we can't bring a different person in. Sometimes, we ourselves have to somehow break out of our current comfortable thinking, and hit the reset button. Do a control-alt-delete. Change our mindset. Sometimes that is the only solution."

He sees Kate's quizzical expression, so he digs deeper still.

"Kate, the solution for you to become at peace with yourself was never to solve your mother's murder. That has been the crux of the issue with you. Solving your mother's murder is not the reason you were put here on this planet. That's not your purpose in life. Because if it is your sole purpose, then what do you do once you solve this mystery? And rest assured, a detective with your skills will somehow, someday, someway solve that crime. Then what? If that is your sole purpose, then you really are in trouble."

He gets up, and goes to his mini-fridge and takes out two bottles of water. Unscrewing one, he offers the other to Kate, who accepts it and unscrews her top and takes a pull of the cold water.

"You have broken the mold, Kate. You are operating now with a different focus, a different consciousness. You can't keep doing the same things, thinking the same things. You have to change your mindset – and that is what you have done. You are approaching things differently, you are thinking differently, you are planning differently. Maybe all of the events from the summer just added up for you and you did the math. Maybe something else has happened – "

He searches her eyes for a sign that something else indeed has happened, but sees nothing.

"Like you said – someday, someway I will find her killer –"

"Oh, I'm not talking about your mom anymore, Kate."

"What? Well who are you talking about then?"

"Richard Castle" he says.

"What?" she asks, putting her bottle down.

"Mr. Castle. Your approach to Mr. Castle is different now. I listen to your words about him, I listen to how you express your feelings about him – you have changed."

"Rick is gone, doctor."

"Richard has left before, Kate" he offers. "Just last summer, in fact. You mentioned he went to the Hamptons for the summer."

"That's true, but –"

"No buts, Kate. The fact is he is gone, and you are doing fine. Moreso, he is gone and you are able to admit your feelings for him, and you are _still _fine. And you haven't rushed out to the west coast to try and fix things. You are letting this run its course."

"That's the best thing to do in a situation like this, right?" she asks.

"Perhaps it is, and perhaps it isn't," he counters. "The important thing is you are different now. You are thinking differently. You focus is different. And because you have changed your mindset, how you are approaching this, then perhaps you and Mr. Castle do in fact have a chance – even though he is there and you are here. Who knows. The important thing is that you are okay with this – you are dealing with this in such a positive manner. And no matter how things turn out with Richard, no matter how things turn out with your mother's case, you have to find happiness. You have to find peace. And you are well on the way to this, Kate."

She realizes he is right. No, she didn't go chasing Castle down in the Hamptons the summer before, but yeah, she was angry. She was hurt. Maybe rightfully so, maybe not. But it had been a hard summer, and when he returned, she wasn't exactly thrilled to see him. This time? The anger, the frustration – somehow they are absent. Yeah, she is sad, and nights are often lonely because now that she is ready for something better with him, he's long gone. He's on the other side of the country. He might as well be on the other side of an ocean.

"I do miss him, though," she admits.

"Of course you miss him. You said you love him", he smiles.

"Makes it harder," she says wistfully.

"Your new mindset has freed you, Kate. Changing the way we think is a liberating experience. It offers us new possibilities, new opportunities that would have stayed out of reach without that change in mindset. You're strong, Kate. No – better – you have found the strength you have always had. I am proud of you."

She finds his simple exclamation of pride encouraging, and uplifting.

"And I am rooting for the two of you, Kate. From what you have told me, it sounds like he has had a change of mind as well."

"I wonder if he will ever love me again – if he still loves me," she wonders aloud, not for the first time.

"Kate – I said he had a change of mind, not a change of heart. Changing one's mind often gives us a chance to receive what our heart wants. As I said – I am rooting for you both."

"So am I, doctor. So am I."

. . . . . . . .

Later that night, Kate finds herself sitting on her couch. The Chinese take-out boxes are scattered on her sofa table. She takes another bite of fried rice, and then picks her tablet up to finish her entry for the day in her journal. She's been keeping a diary for the past month or so, and each entry is essentially a letter to Castle, just sharing her thoughts for the day with him.

Of course, he is never going to see these thoughts. They really are more for her – allowing her to write down, and say aloud as she writes, those things that she could have said before. But for what seems like the hundredth time, she stops herself from berating herself.

"It just wasn't time then," she muses. "But someday . . ."

Finishing her thoughts in the journal for the night, she puts her tablet down on the table and glances at her watch. 8:30. She picks up her phone and scrolls to find the contact number and hits SEND.

"Hey Katie, how are you?" asks Jim Beckett on the other end.

. . . . . . .

_**Late October, 2011, Sausalito, California**_

"Richard, I'm glad we came this evening. This has been wonderful."

"I agree, this is good – and thank you for your enlightening ideas. I will be incorporating them, you can count on that," Castle tells the bay area CEO as she and her husband leave his hillside Sausalito home.

"Great meeting you, Alexis," she waves, following her husband to their car parked in the street.

"Goodbye, and great meeting you also," Alexis calls out.

This night has been a smashing success on all fronts, and a very tired Richard Castle wraps his arm around Alexis as they both simultaneously drop backwards onto the couch. The city lights of San Francisco twinkle in the distance across the water. The view from the all-glass structure in the living room is one neither has gotten used to. It's nothing short of spectacular.

"Gee, Dad – I have to tell you, I would not have remembered half of their names if you hadn't asked everyone to put on those name tags", she exclaims.

"I know, right?!" her dad counters, and they both laugh.

"So, I suppose this was a successful night?" she asks.

"Pumpkin, this went as well as I could have dreamed – maybe even better."

"I'd say close to fifteen million in contributions for the next year," says Mike Monroe, who is seated at the bar counter to the side, going through pledge cards and checks already written. More than twenty Bay Area executives showed up this evening for this 'fund raising party' thrown by Castle. He made sure that Mike Monroe, his security chief, was here for this, and Mike had brought Lindy Matthews along as well. Lindy is sitting next to Mike, rifling through pledge cards and organizing them with Mike.

Dr. Samantha Peraza slips comfortably into the large side chair next to the sofa where Castle and Alexis are half sprawled, and she kicks her shoes off unto the rug.

"Wow, I needed to get out of these an hour ago," she sighs, and Alexis giggles almost too loudly. "Your turn is coming, Alexis," the doctor warns. She and Castle go back to college days, and it has been his great fortune that they not only have kept in touch, but that she lives in the Presidio area in the city, overlooking the bay. Once a prestigious army base, the Presidio is now home to many residential and commercial tenants.

Castle had wanted the executives who visited this evening to meet some of the team who they would be contributing towards. Fortunately, Dr. Peraza's reputation counseling women in the area had been well known to some of the executives. Rick wanted his potential contributors to see the full vision. Not only did he receive the contributions he was hoping for, but gathered some interesting ideas as well. As a writer, his mind is always searching for new inspirations, so picking up on the thoughts and concepts being discussed this evening had been a role he easily slipped into.

"Just under seventeen million for the evening," Lindy calls out, as she and Mike high-five one another. They have finished tabulating the cards and checks, as Mike stands up and heads to the fridge to grab a couple of beers.

"That puts us just under twenty-five million in contributions over the past two months," says Rick, happily. "This is fantastic."

Everyone raises a bottle – for Alexis a bottle of sparkling water – as she offers a toast for the evening.

"To all of the ways to make a difference" she says, her eyes sparkling with pride at the evenings' turn of events.

"Yes – twenty-five million of them" laughs Castle, and they all join in.

"The best part," Castle continues, "is that quite a few of our new friends have committed that this will be something they look to do annually – which makes next year a whole lot easier!"

"That's going to be important, Rick", adds Samantha. "The start-up costs are massive for this project, but the recurring costs are going to be staggering as well."

"That's a little rich even for your pockets, eh Rick?" Mike laughs.

"Not a little rich . . . _**a lot**_ rich, Mike," Castle agrees.

"Between Palo Alto, South San Francisco and Silicon Valley – there are a lot of people looking for a good and worthy cause to invest into," Lindy adds. "It's really refreshing to see so many people willing to put so much into this particular cause."

"Yeah," says Mike, and Castle knows Mike is thinking yet again of his mother's experiences.

The night has been a real success. Not only have they raised money for the project, they have established new relationships, and a couple of what Castle believes will be bona fide friendships – something he is searching for here in the Bay Area. More than a few of the visiting executives found themselves eager to mingle with Castle the author. Many wanted to know why he ended the Nikki Heat series. Some wanted to know what the next series was going to be, and a few even found the courage to actually ask about the muse behind the character of his popular series.

"What's she like, Mr. Castle?" one of the CEOs had asked, and within seconds, two or three others crowded into the conversation to hear what Castle had to say about his not-so-secret muse.

"She is everything she appears to be in the books – and more", offers Castle, giving his listeners exactly the answer they were hoping for. "I was said she is extraordinary."

In his mind, he added a few more words to describe Kate Beckett that he didn't verbalize. _Frustrating, maddening, beautiful, sexy as all hell._

"As for my next series of books – let's just say I am on a bit of a hiatus, as the most important thing for me moving forward isn't writing books, but trying to make a difference."

In the end hands were shaken, cheeks were kissed, more than a few autographs were given, and some heavy commitments had been made. He knows he will write again, someday – after all, that is his gift, and he knows he will return to that love.

But not now.

An hour later, everyone has left except for Alexis, and Castle and his daughter find themselves still on the couch, staring out the window. Her red hair is down tonight, and now is nestled firmly underneath her dad's chin. It's been a long evening, and he can tell when her body goes slightly limp, indicating she has fallen asleep.

He slowly disentangles himself from her, and in a quick motion scoops Alexis up in his arms, as she protests.

"Daddy, I'm fine . . . I can walk", she says.

"Nonsense, "he counters. "Who knows how much longer I will be able to do this for my princess."

Alexis doesn't fight it. In truth, she knows someday she is going to miss these moments, being whisked up into the arms of the man she loves more than anyone, who has taken care of her for her entire life. The man who now is undertaking a task she never dreamed he would champion, and has promised to lay it into her lap when she finishes college, when she is ready.

"I love you, dad", she offers as he places a kiss on her forehead after lying her in her bed. She pulls up the covers tightly under her chin.

"We did good tonight, didn't we, dad?"

"Yes, pumpkin – we did real good."

"Does she know you are going out there next week?"

"Does who know?" Castle innocently asks.

"Good night, dad. I love you," Alexis laughs softly.

"Good night, Alexis. I love you too," he says as he shuts her door and heads down the hall to his study. It's almost 11pm, and he is tired, but he does have a little writing to get done today. Inspiration hit him midway during the party earlier in the evening.

He opens his laptop, opens the folder and pulls up the file he has been working on for the past month. It's a series of short stories. Except for letters to contributors, this is really the only writing he is doing nowadays.

Of course it is for her.

Each short story is a form of love letter. Each story is an imaginary date with Kate Beckett. Each story – although just a few pages in length – is expansive and descriptive. Since they have never been on a date, each story is an imaginative telling of what could be, of what might have been, of what someday be.

In one story, he has picked her up at the airport, as she comes out to visit him. They zoom into the city, along 101, allowing her to take in the views of old Candlestick Park in the distance, and within minutes, the city lights open up to them. He continues on, exiting at 3rd street, picking up Geary and heading out to the Cliff House on the other side of town. They get there just in time to catch a gorgeous sunset over the Pacific Ocean, by the large windows at the restaurant.

In another story, they are back in Manhattan, and he has surprised her by walking into the Precinct, flowers in hand, and they head down into Times Square to take in a new show that Martha is involved with, before headed out to dinner.

Tonight, the CEO for one of the software companies was swapping stories with Castle about the Carribean and one of his favorite St. John's hotels. Truth be told, Castles juices were firing up in the background since that conversation, and now he is jotting down a romantic getaway story about he and Kate just happening to run into each other checking in at the hotel front desk, in the Carribean.

"Hey, I'm an author," he humorously defends himself, against himself. "It's my story and it will go the way I want it to."

These stories are his release. Of course he didn't hear the conversation between Dr. Burke and Kate, but the insinuation by Dr. Burke rings true. Castle, too, has had a change of mind – a new mindset, a new focus, with new priorities. But there has been no change of _heart_ with the man. His head is planted firmly in the Bay Area, but his heart still has deep roots in New York, and those roots continue to go deep, despite any efforts to the contrary he can muster.

He smiles as he puts the finishing touches on this latest inspiration – just a few pages – a few pages that give him the release he needs. He misses her. Perhaps someday one of these stories might become a reality. But for now, it is enough that he can write these down – and his vivid imagination can see so vibrantly, so realistically what he re-reads to himself.

It is enough for now. It is enough for tonight.

He closes his laptop, and heads to his bedroom. He looks in through the doorway at Alexis and his daughter is long asleep. He smiles – a smile of love, a smile of pride. So many emotions hit him just gazing at the sleeping form of Alexis.

He is reminded of her question that he didn't answer.

"No, sweetheart," he thinks to himself as an answer to his sleeping daughter. "She doesn't know I am going out there."

A few of his buddies have pulled together a group of interested parties, who want a pitch on the projects that Castle has embarked upon – it is an opportunity for him to raise more money – this is what consumes much of his time now, and he knows this is how it is going to be for some time.

"See, it's not out of reason that I run into her at an airport", he deadpans again to himself.

Chuckling, he puts those thoughts away. The plan is to get into the city, make a quick deposit at the bank the next morning with Martha for one of her new programs with the acting community, grab lunch with the small group his poker buddies have rounded up and catch the 6:30 flight that evening back to the west coast. It will be a long day, and he has a connecting return flight getting him back home close to midnight.

"She doesn't know and doesn't need to now. Not yet. It's still too soon."


	6. Chapter 6

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 6**

**AN:** Again, apologies for the earlier delays. I will try to get these next few out a little faster. This is a very short chapter to set up the next phase of the story.

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**October 31, 2011, New York City**_

Richard Castle and his mother, Martha, sit at the desk of one of the loan officers at the New Amsterdam Bank and Trust, where Martha banks. They have been in this conversation with said officer for the past half hour or so, and this is a slow and agonizing death for Castle.

"This is outrageous, sir! You are nothing but a well-dressed loan shark!" Martha utters with flamboyant anger.

For the umpteenth time, a guilty and utterly frustrated look paints itself across Castle's face as the loan officer continues to attempt to explain the bank's position to Martha – quite unsuccessfully.

"Ms. Rogers, I assure you, this is a very competitive interest rate . . . considering your financial history. However if your son co-signs –"

"Yes!" Castle interjects.

"No, no, no," states Martha, emphatically. "This is_ my_ loan - not his - to pay for _my_ repairs to _my_ acting studio, not his!"

Castle is grasping for any life-line now. They have been here for roughly thirty minutes having this conversation and it is going nowhere fast. He knew Martha wanted money for her studio – that's why he is here. But he figured once they sat down with one of the banking officers, they would either be able to overcome Martha's past . . . indiscretions with money simply by offering his co-signature, – or – he'd just deposit the money in her account. In his wildest dreams he never figured Martha would opt out of both options! Now he is thinking he should have just deposited the money in her account from California, and saved himself the half-day trip to New York last night and this agonizing meeting.

But spending a little time with Martha seemed like such a good idea at the time.

"If you would just let me co-sign the loan, or I can just –"

"Richard," Martha interrupts, "I am a businesswoman now! I do not want your money. I do not want your signature." She turns back to the loan officer, finger in his face to make her point.

"It's the principle –"

"No, Ms. Rogers," the banking officer interrupts, "It's the interest."

At that moment, his phone rings.

"And I have lost mine," states Castle, matter-of-factly, as he stands to leave. Never has Richard Castle been so happy to see the name and face of his red-haired daughter lighting up his phone screen. He walks out the door giving the loan officer a backwards, sympathetic glance and wanders back toward the front entrance of the bank as he clicks on the phone call.

"Saved by the bell! Or in this case, the ringer," he exclaims, exhaling a nervous breath he doesn't realize he has been holding.

"Well, I was going to ask how it was going, but I guess as well as we could have expected," Alexis laughs.

_Oh, she is quite amused, he thinks to himself_.

"How _is_ Grams, dad?" she asks.

He finds himself standing in the hallway leading back to the front entrance. The bank tellers are ahead of him, around the corner.

"She doesn't want my signature and she doesn't want my money. Good Lord, Alexis, I am sitting there, I'm certain – with this utterly dumbfounded look on my face – wondering what in the world I am doing here."

Alexis' laugh sings through the phone line. "Dad you knew she would be stubborn about this – we talked about it. This was more a chance for you to see Grams than anything else."

As he listens to his daughter's all-to-knowing laughter, the inquisitive side of Castle kicks in, as he notices a second hospital worker in scrubs in the bank, getting into the teller line. There should be nothing strange about this. Doctors and nurses and technicians need to bank as much as anyone else. But something seems a bit off about this. He can't put his finger on it just yet.

Then he notices it. Both have jackets on, hands in pockets. And is it his imagination or is there a slight bulge underneath those jackets? One of the hospital workers gives what appears to be a knowing glance - or a passing smile at the other as she walks past the lobby kiosk center. Yeah, this is just his imagination, right?

"I'm just sorry I missed out on the fun -" Alexis continues, but she is interrupted by Castle as a third person enters the bank. He is dressed pretty much the same as the previous two, only this time he takes a U-shaped metal bar out from under his jacket and jams the front door with it.

"Pumpkin, this bank is about to be robbed," he states more calmly than he would have imagined. He looks back through the glass window and door back at Martha, still engaged in a feisty discussion with the bank officer.

"What do you mean, robbed? Dad!-"

"Everybody get down on the floor!" The command is shouted loud enough to for Alexis to hear through the phone. The bank _is _being robbed.

_God, the bank is being robbed and her dad and grandmother are there!_

"Call the police, Alexis – no questions – I'm at the New Amsterdam Bank and Trust on Lex. Call the police right –"

The call goes dead at that moment, and Alexis finds herself screaming into her phone. Quickly, she calms herself, remembering her dad's last words before the call dropped.

"_Call the police – New Amsterdam Bank and Trust – call the police"_ she repeats to herself. As quickly as the words hit her, she realizes that – in New York City – she _knows _a few police officers. She has them on in her contact list on her phone.

She scrolls through the names, sending a silent prayer upwards.

"_Don't be mad, daddy, but she is the one police officer I know that will get you and Grams out of there"_, she thinks to herself as she presses the SEND button.

. . . . . . . . .

Kate Beckett sits at her desk, mindlessly working through paperwork. It's a boring time. It's down-time right now. No murders have been assigned to her team, and that is something to be thankful for. But she could use a distraction right about now.

As if in answer to an unasked prayer, her cell phone rings. She has to do a double take, because the incoming caller name says "Alexis Castle".

Her heart rate explodes in that instant – the last person she would have expected to receive a phone call from is someone with the last name of Castle – and she certainly wouldn't have guessed it to come from Alexis. She sits staring at her phone for a few seconds, then realizes it is up to the third ring.

"Beckett," she answers out of habit, then realizing what she has just said, quickly corrects herself.

"Alexis, how are you? This is a –"

"Detective Beckett, I need your help!" Alexis half yells into the phone. "There is a robbery – there is a bank robbery. It's at the New Amsterdam Bank and Trust on Lex. It's being robbed right now!"

"Whoa, whoa – slow down Alexis. How do you know this? You're in California, aren't –"

"My dad is there! My dad is with Grams in New York. He flew in last night to help her do something at the bank this morning. I was just on the phone with him and he told me it was getting ready to be robbed. I heard shouting and then my phone went dead! Detective Beckett, my dad is –"

Kate Beckett interrupts the frazzled young girl, as she turns to her partner detectives in the Precinct, now barking orders.

"Esposito, we have a 1030 at the New Amsterdam Bank and Trust on Lex. Call dispatch!"

Detective Ryan sits next to his best friend, and asks the obvious question, with a puzzled look on his face.

"A 1030? Since when are we handling bank robberies?"

"Castle's there," Beckett states, matter-of-factly. Those two words spur all three detectives into action. Kate is lost in her thoughts as she grabs her stuff and heads to the elevator while Esposito alerts dispatch.

She knows how bank robberies can go – they can go either way. Someone robbing a bank is either at the end of their rope, or decidedly very intelligent with a plan. Neither option potentially bodes well for Castle and she knows this.

She leans against the inner railing, her fingers cupped to the bridge of her nose as the elevator doors close.

"Castle," she mutters out loud. "Rick."

**AN:** Cops and Robbers remains one of my all-time favorite Castle episodes. I thought it was so well-done, and ended up setting the stage to launch Castle and Beckett into something different, even though it (as usual) took our knuckleheads a little while to get there. I wanted to weave that story into this plotline to see where it might take them had their relationship been in a very different place at the time.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 7**

**AN:** I am sorry for the delay. Life happens sometimes. Thank you for coming back.

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**October 31, 2011, New York City**_

**9:10am EST - Inside the Bank**

Richard Castle hustles back towards his mother, Martha, as the bank robbers start rounding customers into the lobby. In that moment, everyone transitions from customer to hostage. At least he and his mother will be together through this, and hopefully these guys will get the money they are looking for and be gone within minutes. _As long as no one tries to be a hero_, he thinks to himself.

Martha makes some comment about only being there, about only banking there because Castle has banked there for so long. Castle, in that way only he can do, finds the humor in this, too.

"You know, Mother, I believe I have grown tired of the customer service from this establishment," he smiles weakly.

Immediately they are all forced into the lobby where their cell phones are confiscated. Castle idly muses that now would be a great time for technology to have brought a watch phone to market. He then wonders if they already exist and he has just missed it.

"_C'mon, we live in a Dick Tracy-esque world; how difficult can a good watch phone be_," he wonders aloud.

The bank manager, who has been speaking with Martha earlier in the morning, interrupts and starts giving a history lesson on smart watches, starting back into 1972 and then into the late 1990's.

"By the late 1990's," he continues, "Samsung had released a pretty cool but also large contraption that dwarfed your wrist, but effectively allowed you to place and receive calls. And just two years ago, they launched a new version of that phone, but it really didn't go anywhere. I'm still hoping that in the next few years we will see something new from them, or maybe from Apple in the form of a -"

Castle has been watching and listening to the soliloquy with limited interest. He was only thinking aloud, not asking for a history lesson. Finally, he can take no more, given the dire circumstances they face, and he interrupts the nervous bank manager.

"Well, thank you Dr. Mallard for that lovely and historic stroll down technology lane," muses Castle. The manager sits back, and remains silent.

The robbers are using doctor aliases consistent with their scrub attire. He hears a Dr. Huxtable addressed to the black 'doctor', while the sole woman is referred to as Dr. Quinn.

"_Cute,"_ he thinks to himself, _"a medicine woman." _He dare not voice his inner musings aloud again for fear of launching another nervous diatribe from his fellow hostage, not that Castle would blame the man. This _is_ his bank, after all.

A second man is referred to as Dr. House, while the last man Castle saw enter seems to be the leader, and goes by the moniker of Trapper John. A nice nod to MASH. They may as well have been dressed as dead presidents.

"_Oh wait, that didn't end too well,"_ he reminds himself silently.

Martha points out that they are going through the teller drawers, extracting monies.

"Maybe this will be over quickly," she whispers, hopefully.

"Maybe," Castle answers. "And maybe not."

Castle has always had this 'wait-a-second' radar, and right now that radar is blaring at him. He has noticed the robbers are indeed extracting clips of money, but he also notices they are not wearing gloves. He wonders to himself exactly how stupid a robber has to be to not only not wear gloves, but to also take all of the money from the teller drawers, which undoubtedly will trigger the silent alarm codes to the police department.

For guys who seem like they know what they are doing, for what seems like a well-organized event – this _is_ well planned out – this is a rookie mistake, risking fingerprints and an immediate police response.

Regardless, Castle, Martha and the others stay seated as told, and settle in for what they all hope will be a short incarceration in the bank.

**9:40am EST – Outside the bank**

Kate Beckett, Kevin Ryan and Javier Esposito arrive at the bank scene, and Kate immediately makes a beeline for the makeshift trailer that is acting as the SWAT communication center, looking for whoever is in charge.

She sees a man speaking authoritatively to a couple of younger looking officers, and decides he is the man she is looking for. She approaches him, noticing the sewn-in name patch.

"Captain Peterson, I'm Detective Kate Beckett from the 12th Precinct. We called this 1030 in, and are here to help."

"Well, if you called this in, then thank you, you've already done your part to help," Peterson states absently to her. "Now keep helping us by stepping back outside and letting us do our job."

"You don't understand. My . . . my partner is in there," she lies, knowing that Castle is neither a police officer nor her partner anymore.

"We have an officer inside?" Peterson asks, now greatly interested.

"No. No – no he is a civilian specialist that we have worked with extensively," she explains. "He was on the phone with his daughter when the perps showed up. She was the one who called us, and we called it in," she finishes.

"We can't leave him in there, captain."

Peterson nods in understanding. "Well, Detective, you know the regulations, and you know why they are there in the first place. We are trained to do this – you are not", he continues. "Now I don't come busting into your homicide cases – I ask you to extend me the same courtesy here today."

As he finishes speaking, the phone rings. Peterson picks up the call.

"This is Captain Peterson – who am I speaking with?" he asks. Looking back at Kate, he adds with his hand over the mic wand off his ear, "You missed your cue, detective", then turns back into his phone call with one of the bank robbers. Kate Beckett frowns and steps back outside to update Esposito and Ryan.

"What'd he say?" asks Esposito.

"That our services are not needed," she comments. Ryan and Esposito nod, knowingly. This was not unexpected.

Back inside the trailer, Peterson is beginning the negotiation process with the bank robbers. Trapper John, the robber on the other end of the phone call, starts laughing at Peterson.

"Well, Captain, this didn't take long for you to fall into form, running the NYPD hostage playbook. So now I anticipate you will try to establish a connection with me, a bond, a rapport. You're going to tell me to stay calm," he chuckles.

"Now wait a minute –" Peterson counters, but he is immediately cut off by Trapper John.

"No, let me tell you how you will keep me calm. Give me what I ask for, when I ask for it. Do that and you and I will enjoy an excellent doctor-patient relationship," he laughs as he signs off, leaving Captain Peterson listening to dead air.

**(Two hours later) 11:30am EST / 9:30am PST - In the air**

Alexis Castle, Mike Monroe, Colin Alexander, Dawn Harrison and Lindy Matthews are flying in a chartered Cessna Citation X, speeding along at just over 600mph from the west coast. After being cut off from her phone call with her dad, her first call went to Detective Kate Beckett. Her second phone call was to Mike, letting him know what was happening.

Fifteen minutes after hanging up with Mike, at 7:30am PST, a limo was at Castle's Sausalito residence picking Alexis up. There would be no school today. That was her third call, to the administration folks at Branson School letting them know.

Thirty minutes later, she was on the charter jet at Gnoss Field in Novato, California just north of Sausalito, hurtling down the runway on a fast track to New York City.

Mike looks at his watch. It is now 9:30am Pacific Time. They have been airborne for roughly 90 minutes, with a flight time of just over four hours if luck holds. They should be landing around 2 or 2:15pm Eastern Time. A quick helicopter transfer will put them into Manhattan within 20 minutes of touchdown. They should be at the bank before 3pm. With a little luck, this entire situation will be over by then, and possibly is over already. If not – well then Mike and his team will do whatever is necessary to ensure skittish bank robbers or overeager SWAT resources don't get Castle killed.

**Still 11:30am EST – Inside the bank**

Trapper John has been in the back area of the bank, and now has returned to the lobby. He looks at the hostages, taking each one in. When his eyes fall on Castle, they stay there. He stares for a minute, trying to put the dots together. When the dots fall into place, he smiles warmly, approaching Castle.

"You're Richard Castle, right?" he asks.

"Yes, I am," Rick answers.

"Wow – I am a fan, I am a fan," Trapper John gushes, and honestly Castle can't decide whether this is an act or not.

"Man, I loved the Nikki Heat series, I _loved_ that series," John continues. "I can't tell you how disappointed I was to see you end that series, to see they didn't stay together."

"You and me both," Castle responds.

"So tell, me, Castle – I understand you based Heat on a detective here in New York. What was her name again? What was her name?"

Castle doesn't respond, and the jovial banter is now gone from Trapper John. With more than a little menace he queries Castle again.

"Now, Richard, am I going to have to start shooting hostages over something so trivial as the name of your muse?"

"Beckett," Castle answers. "Detective Kate Beckett."

"Yeah," Trapper John responds, "that's her. That's who I want to talk to. Captain Moron out there is boring me to no end. We are going to be here awhile, and I want a nice voice to talk to."

Castle frowns knowingly. His radar is in full-blown alarm mode now. This goon has just admitted that they plan on being there awhile. Why? Clearly, this is no simple bank robbery, as they could have – no scratch that – they should have been in and out by now, long gone before the police had a chance to arrive. Why didn't they high-tail it out of there once they got what they came for?

"_Unless . . . unless they aren't here for money,"_ Castle thinks silently.

**Noon EST – Outside the Bank**

Kate Beckett is pacing outside the trailer, occasionally throwing glances at the bank windows . . . wondering what is going on inside. Wondering about Castle.

A lieutenant steps out and calls for her.

"Captain Peterson would like a word, Detective."

Kate walks up the stairs into the trailer, where Peterson explains that somehow, the lead robber knows her and has decided that he wants to speak with "and I quote, Detective Kate Beckett and only Detective Kate Beckett" from here on out.

"He asked for you by name, very specifically. And you're the one who called this in. So you tell me, Detective, what the hell is really going on here?"

"I promise you, Captain, I have no idea," she counters. "I was the one who received the phone call from Castle's daughter, and he is the one inside there. Other than that, I promise you, you know more than I do."

"I am beginning to doubt that, Detective," Peterson replies.

"Like you said", Kate offers, "I have no training in hostage negotiations. This is what you do, not what I do."

"Well, it's also what you do, effective immediately," Peterson states matter-of-factly. "And I don't have time to give you the full seminar on Bank Hostages 101, so let me put it like this. Do exactly the opposite of what your homicide training tells you," he smiles. He recognizes the strange and unfair position he is putting her into, but he also is puzzled at the coincidence that her team called this in, and now she is the only one this guy wants to talk to. And in his experience he has learned there are no real coincidences.

"So don't yell, don't bully, don't threaten him in any way," he continues. "It's all about keeping him calm."

Kate nods her head, unconvincingly.

"Detective, are you up for this?" Peterson asks.

"Yeah," she replies. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Good. Now it's important to keep him talking," Peterson states. "Build rapport. As long as he's busy talking to you, he's not busy hurting any hostages."

"When do we start?" she asks.

"In two seconds, once I take this joker off mute," he smirks. With that, and a touch of his finger on a button on his ear, he takes off the ear piece and hands it to Beckett. She takes a deep breath, and says a silent prayer.

"_Build rapport he says,"_ she thinks silently to herself, gathering her thoughts. _"Life just can't be easy can it - I can't just have a nice, uninterrupted day, can I . . ."_

"This is Detective Kate Beckett," she begins.

"Ah, Detective Beckett. You can call me Trapper John," he states, amiably. She rolls her eyes at the choice of name, and wonders idly if there aren't other 'doctors' in the bank. Idiots.

"Detective Beckett," he continues, "I like you. Because I like you, I'm going to kill writer boy here last."

"_So, that's how he's going to play it,"_ she thinks to herself. _"Okay, game time."_

"There's no need to hurt anyone, Trapper John," she begins. "You've been in there almost three hours and you haven't done anything stupid."

Peterson audibly gasps, with eyebrows raised. She waves him off.

"You don't have to start now. You don't need to hurt anyone," she continues.

"Now Detective, just do what I say and maybe – just maybe no one gets hurt. I will call you back when we are ready."

"Ready for what?" she asks, but she is talking to dead air. Trapper John is gone.

**12:30pm EST – Inside the Bank**

The hostages are getting restless, and it has nothing to do with the stress of the bank heist. Castle recognizes this, and is feeling it himself. He very slowly stands, calling out to any of the 'doctors', but careful not to make any sudden moves.

"Uh, excuse me – I'm sorry . . . hold on, hold on, I am moving very slowly."

"What do you want, writer?" asks Dr. Quinn.

"A little charity, if you will. You said we were going to be here a while – well we've been here almost three hours, maybe more, with no bathroom visits," Castle states with a bit of tremor in his voice. He's trying hard not to get shot. The medicine woman worries him more than the male doctors.

"_A shame to get shot to death after Beckett always half-threatened me with her gun_," he thinks to himself.

"I can tell you this is not going to be a very pleasant – or very sanitary – lobby here if you don't start letting some of us take bio breaks."

Trapper John moves over, hearing the discussion. "Sure, sure – I suppose you are right. We aren't barbarians here," he states. He looks at Huxtable and Quinn before continuing. "But one at a time to the latrine, no exceptions – starting with you, Mr. Castle."

His words hang heavy in the air for Castle. He recognizes the military term just used for bathroom. Latrine is a military term. His suspicions are slowly being confirmed. These guys are ex-military. Possibly mercenaries. Everything has been done with precision. Castle has long ago started to suspect that this robbery has nothing to do with money. Now he is half convinced that he and his mother have stumbled into a terrorist event. He just can't understand what they want. And if it _is_ a terrorist event, then why are they still alive.

"_We're in bigger trouble than I thought,"_ he thinks to himself.

These are his thoughts as he makes his way to the restroom to relieve himself. As he walks, he passes by the open cage where the safe deposit boxes are stored. He sees one of the 'doctors' – Dr. House he believes – trying to open a safe deposit box, and then shaking his head and going on to the next box.

Castle moves on to the restroom, gathering his thoughts as he stands over the urinal.

"_They're going through the safe deposit boxes. And they don't know which one they are looking for",_ he thinks. _"This isn't a bank heist. They're not after money. They're after something in one of the boxes."_

He realizes that the robbers are trying to open each of the boxes. Evidently they have a key to a certain box, but don't know which box it is. They probably have confiscated the bank manager's key already. That's why they are here – and that's why this is taking so long. They knew they would be here for a while. And they have – literally – hundreds, if not over a thousand boxes to try.

**1pm EST – Inside the Bank**

Bio breaks are winding down, and they are now well over three hours into this. Castle idly wonders what the police are doing. Obviously the 'robbers' are in no hurry – he still doesn't understand this, but it has to be connected to the safe deposit boxes. He knows in his gut that is what they are here for, but can't figure out what could be in a box that would warrant such an action. It can't be cash, because they already have the cash from the bank. It must be something personal. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing at attention, and he doesn't know why.

The other thing bothering him is the police are obviously in no hurry either. He'd half expected them to come storming into the bank. Working with the 12th Precinct, he knows from second hand experience that the SWAT team favors the more direct approach. Make no mistake, he's glad they haven't come in, guns blazing, tear gas exploding. But he's surprised nonetheless.

He is about to lean over to speak with the bank manager about the safe deposit box when he sees another hostage return from the restroom. It's Sal, who has been sitting next to him for the majority of the hostage situation, and Sal is a Nervous Nellie if there ever was one. Sal seemed to be in the restroom longer than expected. He smirks at the thought that perhaps nature had a second calling instead of a first calling with the nervous man. Then again, they are all nervous – and with good reason.

Sal sits next to Martha and Castle, still his nervous self. In a low whisper, he states that something seems off.

"They're back there playing with a safe deposit box," he states.

"Just one box?" Castle asks?

"Yeah, why?" replies Sal.

For some reason, Castle holds this information close to the vest, just shaking his head. If they have a box out, then that means they found the box they were looking for. He leans over to the bank manager sitting next to him.

"They are after a safe deposit box," he whispers, "and they have the one they want. Can you get a good look as you go to the restroom to see which box it is?"

"Yes, that's easy. If I can get a couple of seconds to see, I can figure out which box number they have."

"Good," says Castle. "Your turn, take it slowly."

The bank manager stands slowly, showing his hands as he walks to the restroom, pausing for just a second as he passes the open cage, taking in what box on the wall is missing.

Suddenly, next to Martha, Sal jumps up, screaming. He seems to be having trouble breathing. Or something else.

Panic sets in, as people realize something bad is happening, and something bad happening around robbers with guns and itchy fingers is not good. Sal is yelling for help, then he collapses. Castle is by his side in an instant. The 'doctors' rush up with guns drawn and threats flying.

Sal falls over and seems to be foaming at the mouth a bit. Castle bends over and holds on to him. Feeling metal on his wrist, he looks down and sees the epilepsy bracelet with Sal's name on it.

Trapper John hollers over at Castle to help the fallen man, while Dr. Quinn rushes over, eyes wild and fingers wiggling. For an instant, Castle expects his life to end right then and there.

"Hey, I'm a writer, not a doctor, and that's what he needs right now. A real one."

"Help him up!" Dr. Quinn yells. "Now!"

"Look Dr. Quinn, the man just had a grand mal seizure," exclaims an exasperated Castle. "So unless you really are a medicine woman, he needs to get to a hospital, like right now!"

Castle looks at Trapper John, pleading with his eyes for a chance to help the stricken Sal. Trapper John seems to consider Castle's words, then makes up his mind.

"Ok, writer, I will make the call. Looks like at least one person gets out of here alive today," the fake doctor decides.

Castle smiles inside – careful not to let it show on his face. These guys aren't going to hurt anyone. That much is clear to him now. They have made idle threats, and anyone serious about hurting someone isn't going to wait hours and still just make threats – and let someone go? No, they aren't going to hurt anyone. That's not why they are here.

But Sal needs help, and he needs it now.

**1:15pm EST – Outside the Bank**

Captain Peterson is sitting at his makeshift desk in the trailer, pondering his next move. This is pretty difficult when the perps won't talk to him, and clearly the detective outside is emotionally attached to the situation. She's trying to hide it, but he can see it.

Suddenly the phone rings, interrupting his thoughts. He answers quickly.

"Peterson here," he says.

"Captain, captain, why are you answering the phone? Where is my detective?" Trapper John chuckles.

A minute later, Kate Beckett is back in the trailer, and on the call.

"Hello, Trapper John," she smiles. "What can I do for you?"

"Ah, that's a good girl, detective. We've got a situation here. An epileptic gentleman has just had a seizure. I'm feeling generous," he continues, "and would like for a paramedic to come take our sick bird off my hands."

"We'll have someone in there in five minutes," she states and quickly clicks off, leaving Trapper John speechless.

Turning to Peterson, she quickly explains. "This is our chance to get in there and get a lay of the land."

"What are you talking about, detective?" asks Peterson.

"They have a hostage who has just had a seizure, and are allowing us to take him out. They want a paramedic. We're going to give them a paramedic . . . one who can take a quick glance and assess the situation from the inside."

She quickly leaves the trailer and walks to one of the ambulances standing by, and quickly scans the paramedics standing at the ready, and makes her selection as she climbs into the back of an ambulance, unbuttoning her blouse.

**1:30pm EST – At the door of the Bank**

Five minutes later, Kate Beckett, NY Paramedic, approaches the front door of the bank, pushing a gurney. She yells out "Paramedic" in a voice a clear octave lower than her normal voice. Two sets of hands frisk her down quickly and roughly. None of this registers with her. Her eyes are immediately drawn to the tall, rugged man bent over on his knees helping the stricken man.

_Castle._

It's been months – months – since she has seen him. The moment she entered and saw Sal, her eyes immediately connected with Castle's. His eyes don't leave her for even an instant. Clearly he is stunned to see her here. It is only her hands firmly holding on to the gurney that keep her legs upright for the first few seconds until she recovers.

Dr. Quinn roughly pushes her towards the fallen man.

"Get busy, and quickly!" she orders.

Kate makes a mental promise to kick the bossy woman's ass first when this is all over. She quickly scans the hostages and her eyes find Martha's. Martha's eyes immediately glisten with grateful tears and it is all Kate can do to hold herself together. Kneeling down, she glances at the stricken man, but her eyes are drawn magnetically back to her former partner.

_Castle._

He is staring at her with a look she cannot place. It's almost a combination of intense love that she has never seen in any pair of eyes on earth, but also a hint of remorse. She finds her voice.

"How is he doing?" she asks Castle, but stares straight at Sal.

"Not good," Castle chokes out in a whisper, then finds his voice as well. "His name is Sal Martino. He had a seizure . . . has epilepsy. The seizure, I guess, must have been brought on because of stress."

She nods her head, still staring at Sal.

"Hey Sal," she states, grabbing Castle's hand which is holding on to Sal's hand. "Hey buddy, how are you doing? I just want you to know that there are people out there that care about you. There are people out there who . . . there are people out there who love you so much. So keep breathing.

Speaking of breathing, Castle almost stops. She's been holding both Sal's hand and his hand as she speaks. He knows she is talking to him, even though she continues to look at Sal.

"Kate," he exhales softly, barely audible. He fights to ensure a lone tear doesn't escape and roll down his cheek. The great irony is not lost on him. He waited until she was dying in his arms to tell her how he felt; she waits until he's a hostage in bank robbery until she comes clean, and even then the words aren't spoken directly to him.

But he knows. Yeah, he knows.

Still holding his hand and Sal's, and still staring straight at Sal, she speaks directly to Castle.

"I promise you I'm going to get you out of here," she says just under her breath.

Suddenly 'Dr. Huxtable' steps forward, menacingly.

"Hey, don't talk about . . . Be about!" he orders Kate. "And you – help get him on that gurney _now!"_ he tells Castle.

Castle helps get Sal on his feet briefly and then on to the gurney. Kate begins to wheel Sal to the front door, and as she pushes the gurney through the door she offers a last backward glance. Both she and Castle wonder if this is the last time they will see each other.

**2pm EST – Outside the Bank**

Kate drops Sal off with the real paramedics who rush him to an ambulance and begin working on him as they whisk him to the hospital. Kate walks briskly to the trailer for a conversation with Captain Peterson.

She moves to a closet in the trailer and quickly changes clothes. Her adrenaline is still sky high from her standoff with Trapper John and from seeing Castle. Before she can regain her composure to speak with Peterson, her cell phone rings. She glances down and sees the incoming call from Alexis Castle.

"Alexis," she answers, but the young girl interrupts her.

"We just landed, Detective Beckett."

"What?" Kate exclaims. This is unexpected. Okay, perhaps not, but how in the world did she get here so quickly, she wonders.

"We just landed and are taking a helicopter in to Manhattan. Charter jet. Dad knows people. But you know that already. What's happening? Is my dad safe? He's still not answering his phone."

The young girl is beside herself. She had hoped to call her dad once they landed and hear his cheerful voice answering, letting her know everything was fine. When that didn't happen, Alexis and her travel companions immediately recognized what that meant.

"They are still inside, Alexis. I went inside. I was able to see him."

"Is he hurt?"

"No, no one has been hurt."

"They're all I've got, Detective Beckett. You hear me! They're all I've got."

"Alexis, I promise you they are going to be all right." She realizes she has no way of ensuring this as the words escape her mouth. And Alexis' response is both shocking and heart-rending.

"They'd better. I trusted you Detective . . . I trusted you, God knows why."

No sooner has Alexis hung up, leaving Kate Beckett staring at her cell phone than the trailer door opens. Peterson sticks his head out, summoning her yet again.

"He's calling for you, Detective," he states, and then offers her advice. "And realize that now that he has given us something, he probably will want something in return. So keep him calm."

"Trapper John," she answers, putting the ear piece to her ear.

"Hello, Detective. Quid pro quo. I gave you something – you give me something."

"What can I do for you?" she answers.

"I want a bus."

"Of course you do," she offers.

Yet again, Captain Peterson finds himself raising his eyebrows over the approach of the detective from the 12th Precinct. He knows her reputation. And he's heard the internal stories that she is the source of the badass, fictional Nikki Heat. He's starting to wonder exactly how much of the character might actually be in the Detective.

"I want a bus, and I want it in 30 minutes," Trapper John states amiably.

Captain Peterson, listening in, shakes his head. _Traffic coming down here won't work_, he mouths to her. _Need an hour._

"I'm sorry – I can't do that. I can't control traffic. I can have a bus here in an hour."

"Now, Detective, we've been getting along so well. I made you happy, now you make me happy. Get me my bus in 30 minutes."

"One hour. If you live in this city, you know what you are asking for is impossible."

"I'll tell you what is impossible, Detective," he states with great malice. "Any future life expectancy of Mr. Castle here is pretty much impossible to guarantee. I want a bus here in 30 minutes. If I don't get my bus in 30 minutes, I'm going to make pretty red stains on your boyfriend, Detective. I've got my gun to his throat. Before you can even look for –"

"Listen here, you jackass," she interrupts, fire in her voice and eyes. Even Peterson takes a step backwards as he sees her eyes blazing. "I don't _look_. I _hunt_. And trust me, you don't want that. If you pull that trigger I promise you I will walk through those doors and personally put a bullet through your skull.

There is silence on the other end, and Peterson fears she may have pushed the perp too far. Then after agonizing seconds, Trapper John reappears.

"Ok, Kate. I like you. You have one hour." Peterson shakes his head.

"Well, that's one way to negotiate," he chuckles to himself.

Trapper John, however, has not hung up. Not yet.

"And Detective . . ." he continues. "It was so good to see you in your paramedic outfit."

He smiles at the silence she greets him with from the other end.

"Google, Detective. Your boyfriend is one of my favorite authors. Of course I would recognize you."

**2:55pm EST – At the door of the Bank**

Kate Beckett and Captain Peterson are in the communication trailer. Of course, traffic has held up the bus as expected. There is commotion out front, and Beckett stands and walks to the door.

"_Finally, the bus has arrived,"_ she thinks to herself.

Except it isn't the bus. It's Alexis, and she has four hard, serious-looking men and women with her. Kate recognizes Mike Monroe as the security guard from the few times she had been to Castle's loft. The other three she does not know, but quickly recognizes the military air and precision that each carries with their walk. All four are dressed in dark slacks and military boots, with tight-fitting black t-shirts.

Introductions are made between Kate, Esposito, Ryan and the newcomers to the stand-off. She considers the fact that she has just met Richard Castle's security team.

_Castle has a security team?_

And they've just flown across the country in a chartered jet for their boss, and his daughter?

She idly wonders how the five of them have managed to slip inside the secured perimeter that was set up by the police around the bank. Before she can ask the question, however, an explosion rocks the makeshift command center and surrounding area.

"What the –" exclaims Esposito, falling over.

From the ground next to Esposito, Kevin Ryan stares out at the bank, now smoking from the explosion. "Dear God," he exclaims.

"Dad!" cries Alexis, from her knees.

"Castle . . . Rick!" mumbles Kate, staring at the bank, trying to clear her head. She turns to the bank, where smoke and rubble are flowing and falling. She sees Mike Monroe and an attractive woman accomplice – Matthews – running full speed into the building, while the other woman holds Alexis upright. Alexis' legs have given out and she is now all but fainted on her feet.

Kate runs in, yelling his name, hoping against all hope. One backward glance. Was that going to be it? That's all she would get?

The explosion has come as a complete surprise. There had been no indication that they had explosives in there. There was no threat, no reason to use them.

"Castle!" she yells.

"Rick!" she hears someone else call. Mike Monroe and Lindy Matthews are calling for Castle as well.

No. They aren't calling for Castle. They are calling for 'Rick'. The thought overwhelms her. Then she hears it.

"Beckett? Kate?"

"Rick!" she shouts, louder than necessary as she throws open the door to the room where Castle and the rest of the hostages sit safely – amazingly – hands tied with slip cords. She reaches him before the others – including the other officers – can get there. She falls to her knees facing him, and quickly frees his hands.

"Rick," she states softly, through tears that do not fall, still holding on to his hands.

"Rick," she repeats.

"Kate," he counters.

Within seconds, they lean into each other's arms. She can feel him shaking, and he feels her shaking mirroring his own. They've each had close calls before, but this one is ridiculous. Far too close. He holds her tightly, amazed that she not only lets him, but reciprocates with a fierceness he has long desired . . . had long desired . . . still desires.

"He's not the only one here, you know," Martha offers with a smile.

Suddenly Castle is upright and on his feet as Mike Monroe literally steps over Beckett as she breaks her hug with Castle to free Martha. Castle is in a bear hug from his security chief, and both are giddy with laughter as Lindy joins in. Beckett glances upward at the threesome, and suddenly feels like a definite outsider to Richard Castle's new world. There is definitely a new inner circle, and she is not a part of it.

All of the hostages are freed, and Castle, Mike and Lindy stroll slowly out through the rubble. She follows slowly behind with Martha as the other hostages make their way out. Captain Peterson walks up to her with a smile.

"What happened? Where are our perps?" she asks.

"C4", he responds. And no, they didn't get away. Blew themselves to bits, if you can believe that."

"No, I can't" she responds, as she walks out into the sunlight.

She stops in her tracks as she witnesses the tearful reunion not ten feet from her between Castle, Martha and Alexis. Mike comes alongside and wraps all of them together in his massive arms. Alexis sobs, and her red hair and tearful eyes peek out at Kate. She mouths a silent _thank you_ to the detective, and Kate's heart melts at the unspoken words of gratitude from Castle's daughter, who very clearly has issues with her.

Fighting back tears of both joy and sorrow, and feeling more an outsider than ever, Kate turns to Ryan and Esposito to give a quick update. Suddenly Castle is alongside all three.

"Would you like to know what this was all about?" he smiles.

**7:30pm EST – The 12****th**** Precinct**

All seven men and women sit in the 12th Precinct. Alexis is there also, with Martha in the break room.

Beckett, Esposito and Ryan sit in their normal desk chairs, while Castle and his security team gather round. It is not lost on Becket that Castle has chosen not to sit in the chair that for so long was his. And it is not lost on Castle that 'his chair' is still there. He idly wonders who is sitting in it now. He risks a glance at Beckett who has been watching him.

"No one", she mouths. They both offer a small smile.

The call has just come in minutes ago notifying them that Ron Brandt, aka Sal Martino, has been apprehended four hours upstate in Ithaca.

As he had made his way to the restroom earlier, the bank manager got a look at the empty space in the wall. A quick mental calculation and he realized it was box 120. His records showed that box was used by a Tonya Brandt and her mother. Tonya was Ron's estranged wife. She and her son had faked their deaths and were hiding out upstate from the abusive husband. Box 120 had been their means of communicating with her mother, using Father McCaskey as the intermediary. He was the only person who knew they were still alive. At least that was the plan.

Rob Brandt had arranged the entire bank situation as a smokescreen to give him time to search the bank for the safe deposit box whose contents would lead him to Tonya and his son. Unfortunately, he had already killed her mother a week ago. Her body had been found by Esposito and Ryan just a couple of hours earlier.

Brandt had hoped to steal his son, and either kill or severely hurt – physically and emotionally – his ex-wife.

The irony of the domestic abuse case – given Castle's new passion – is not lost on him. Kate, Esposito, Ryan are all in a celebratory mood. And they ought to be. Even Captain Gates has joined in. The members in Castle's new crew are relaxing, enjoying their still-breathing friend and boss.

Richard Castle, however, moves across the aisle and sits in a separate chair, stuck in a somber mood, staring idly at the empty murder board in the distance. Kate stands and approaches him. He glances up at her. She's not sure where to begin. Outside of a heartfelt mutual hug upon rescuing the hostages, things have been all business, all about the case. Just as always.

She sits next to him, on the desk, and all eyes in the Precinct move towards the two of them. Everyone knows their history. Even Gates.

Castle's eyes fall on Mike.

"Mike, can you call for a car and make sure the plane is ready? I'd like us to get back home at a halfway reasonable hour."

His description of California as 'home' is not lost on Kate.

He glances at Alexis, who is walking out of the break room with Martha. "And you have school tomorrow."

"C'mon, Dad, these are extenuating circumstances", she pleads.

Javier Esposito recognizes that Castle is trying to get everyone out in order to get a few private words with Kate.

"C'mon guys, let's take this out to the bar. Castle's right, they need to get going."

Mike and the team head to the elevator. He tells Castle he will call for the car.

As everyone leaves, Castle holds a hand out asking Kate to sit with him. She grabs an empty chair and rolls it over toward him. They sit, knees touching. Both have wistful looks. This is going to be difficult. They both know this.

"This was never about a robbery, Kate," he begins, running a large hand through his hair. "This was about domestic abuse. It was an incredible – almost ridiculous example of how far a woman will go to escape an abusive relationship. And it was also about how far a man is willing to go to hurt her one last time, extract one last pound of flesh, one more point of revenge."

There are tears in his eyes, and Kate Beckett is taken aback when she realizes that his tears are not for her, not for them. These are tears for a woman he doesn't know. These are tears for potentially hundreds of women he doesn't know. It finally clicks with her how this day has hit him in a way that she didn't see.

"It just reiterates – it just confirms that what I am doing . . . what I want to do is important. It is needed. I can make a difference." He looks at her, and he waves at the room in which they sit; he waves at the murder board in the distance.

"I can make a difference before someone dies. A difference before a little girl loses her mother." A tear finally wanders down his cheek as he says this.

"I've got to go back. I can't stay here another night, and get sucked back into my old life. There is too much for me to do."

He sees the hurt and confusion that his last words have caused in her eyes.

"There is a way, Kate, for me to do this. I realize that now. There is a way for me to make this difference, and still pursue the woman that I . . . the woman that I . . . love."

A second tear falls from his eye, now paired with one that drops along her cheek as she nods her head.

"But it can't be the old way, the frustrating way, the unfulfilling way Kate," he continues. "I have been given a mulligan . . . a do-over. Shame on me – shame on you, if we walk down the same path that led us down a road where I couldn't tell you how I felt until you were on the ground, dying in my arms. That path where you couldn't even admit you remembered me saying it. That path where we are on a last-name basis with each other . . . no different than we are with everyone else."

"I don't want that either, Cas – Rick. I don't. I'm not sure how to do this, though. Dr. Burke tells me that –"

"Who is Dr. Burke?" he interrupts.

"My therapist," she responds. "Shut up, don't say it," she says with a half-smile, and he joins her in it.

"Mandatory therapy to get back to active status. Regulations. At least that's how it started," she states, "but I've continued to see him. I have all of these walls, Rick, that I have built up to protect myself over the years since mom died. But as he tells me – not only do walls keep people out, they also keep me locked in."

Castle nods, pursing his lips.

"He's helping me understand why these walls are here, and helping me understand how to start tearing the damn things down."

"I wanted to be a part of helping you tear those down, Kate," Castle offers sadly.

"I wanted you there, too, Rick," she muses. "I kind of thought that you would just always be there. I guess I took you for granted . . . took us for granted."

She pauses, biting her lower lip and looking out in the distance at nothing in particular. A few seconds pass, and she returns her gaze to her former partner.

"The good news is that I am doing better . . . a lot better. Professionally, well we continue to close cases. You'd like some of them."

"Zombies?" he asks, hopefully.

"No", she sighs with a smile.

"Space men?" he smiles.

"Again – no," she laughs. Then she continues in a more serious tone.

"I've kind of put my mom's case on the back burner."

"Really?" he asks, but he doesn't seem all that surprised. This is not lost on her as she continues.

"Yes. I'd love to tell you that it was a result of this great epiphany, realizing how much I have lost and how much my quest has cost-"

She looks away for a few seconds, then re-captures his eyes and continues.

"Instead, it was a phone call . . . A phone call from a stranger."

"A Mr. Smith", Castle finishes for her. The look she gives him is one of pure surprise and confusion. Castle cocks his head to the side as he considers his next words. He knows they are important and can easily break the bridge they have been building this day and evening.

"He called me a while back," Castle says to her. "Honestly, I'm not sure how he even got my new number, which was my first worry. Anyway, I told him that I was out of the picture, and that he needed to be speaking directly to you."

Kate has no reaction. She simply stares at Castle. His next words convince her of the wisdom of his action.

"I told him that you wouldn't listen to me, you wouldn't listen to your dad . . . you wouldn't listen to Roy."

They both turn away at the mention of Captain Roy Montgomery. Castle grabs her hand to pull her back to the conversation.

"I told him the only person you would listen to would be he – himself. He had to talk directly to you. Then I asked him to call me back after he spoke with you, just in case."

Still allowing him to hold her hands, Kate looks down and asks the question that Castle has been asking himself numerous times over the past few months.

"What would you have done if he told you his phone call with me went . . . differently?" she asks.

Castle responds with no hesitation. "I'm glad I never had to find out."

She nods her head, both in understanding and acceptance. She has grown up much in the past months, as it is evident he has also. Her thoughts are interrupted by the elevator doors opening and Mike Monroe popping his head out as he holds the doors open.

"Hey Rick – car's here and the choppers ready to get us back to the airport."

"Okay, Mike, thanks. We'll be down in a minute."

"Okay, man, see you downstairs," Mike replies.

"We?" Kate asks.

"Yes, we," replies Castle. "We're not finished yet. Not by a long shot . . . unless you want to be," he quickly amends.

"No. No. Not by a long shot," she agrees, as he stands and lifts her by her hands. As they walk to the elevator, their hands do not separate. On the elevator, he pushes the button to go downstairs with his left hand, while his right hand stays mingled with hers. They both sneak a glance down at their entwined fingers at the same time, and both offer up the same sheepish smile.

Neither says anything in the suburban limo that drives the six of them to the helipad some fifteen minutes away. As they get out of the car, walking to the helicopter, they see Alexis and Martha in the distance. The two of them had taken an earlier ride and are waiting for her dad and the crew. She runs to give her dad a hug yet again – thankful that he is still alive and kicking with her this evening. It's been a long day, and everyone is winding down now.

He hugs Martha, and whispers something in her ear, bringing a smile to her face as her eyes connect with Kate's. Alexis walks to Kate, and for a few brief and highly uncomfortable seconds, neither speaks. Alexis finally takes the final, single step and falls into a hug with the detective for whom she has so many mixed feelings. She's the detective who her dad ran away across an entire continent to escape. But tonight, she is the detective who dropped everything at a moment's notice for her dad. The hug is short, but both women understand the peace offering it holds.

Alexis turns and jogs toward the helicopter, lowering her head as she climbs in with Lindy and Dawn, who are already seated. The chopper takes off, heading to the airport and their waiting charter jet. Mike and Colin walk to the other chopper, and Castle reaches his hand for Kate's. Martha retreats back toward the chain link fence surrounding the helipad area. Castle and Beckett stand, facing one another, holding one hand of the other.

"You know how I have felt about you. I know you remember what I said," he begins.

She nods her head.

"And I heard what you said in the bank," he continues.

Again she nods.

"We would never have worked. Not the way we were headed. Even I couldn't write a happy ending for that path we were on."

The blades of the chopper start up, forcing him to speak a little louder, as she reaches back and pulls all of her locks to the side where she can hold them. It's a look he has never seen on her. She's never looked more beautiful.

He takes his hand away from her. Then he offers it forward in the motion of a hand-shake.

"I'm Rick. Rick Castle," he smiles.

She smiles broadly, offering her hand as well, watching it close around his. "Kate. Kate Beckett."

"I'd like to know more about you, Kate," he says, his voice yet louder over the blades. "I live in California. But I don't think a few thousand miles will be a problem."

"You don't, eh?"

"No, I don't. What I do is important. And what you do is important. If we – this thing between you and I – is important enough, then a few miles won't matter."

"A few thousand miles you mean," she corrects.

"Tomato, tomahto", he smiles.

"Potato, potahto", she agrees.

He looks at the chopper, and retracts his hand from hers.

"I have to go," he says with more than a little sadness. He puts his hand under her chin, lifting it toward him.

"I swear if you say _here's looking at you, kid_, I will take my gun out and shoot you, Rick," she smirks, and their laughter is heard over the wind being kicked up by the blades.

He says nothing more to her. Instead, simply lowers his forehead to hers. He breathes deeply. She smells wonderful, and this smell is going to have to carry him for a while. She looks up at him, and their noses briefly touch. They stay this way for a few seconds, before he breaks the connection.

"My first real kiss with you won't be a goodbye kiss," he says softly, more than a little choked up.

"Don't make me wait too long," she offers, eyes both sparkling and glistening at the same time, if that were possible.

"Never," he says.

"Think about me," she asks him as he walks away.

"Always," he promises.

With that, he walks to the chopper without another backward glance. Lowering himself under the blades, he climbs in. Seconds later the chopper is airborne. She turns away, not wanting to watch it go out of sight. Martha still stands at the fence, waiting for her. Kate smiles softly as she reaches Martha. Martha simply takes Kate by the hand. Hand in hand, they walk to the waiting town-car that had brought Martha and Alexis here.

Kate sits with her head against the back window, eyes closed, her hand still interlocked with Martha's. Neither has said a word. Not that words are necessary right now. Both women are just too damn tired, too damn drained. It's been a hell of a day.

Kate hears her phone buzzing in her purse. She pulls it out, and sees a text message from area code 415. She opens the message, tears already forming in her eyes. Martha has heard the buzzing as well, and has glanced over at the number, and simply smiles and closes her eyes again.

"Kate, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship", she reads. _Stupid Casablanca, he just couldn't resist._

But now she has his phone number.

**AN:** I always thought Cops and Robbers was such a great story because not only did it serve as a flashpoint for Beckett and Castle (especially when she entered the bank during the heist attempt and then subsequently after, thinking Castle had died) – but also because the whole bank thing was a dodge – and the real story was about domestic abuse, and the incredible length someone will go through to physically or emotionally hurt someone who they are (or at one time had been) intimate with. That's why this was always one of my favorites, and when I began writing this story, I was excited to be able to weave this episode into it in a somewhat different way, with Castle reacting very differently. Sorry for the delay in chapters. I hope to post the next chapter within the week.


	8. Chapter 8

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 8**

**AN:** I apologize again for the delay – my plan has been to get one chapter out a week, and, well, I haven't. Trying to do better now.

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Nov 28, 2011, San Francisco, California**_

Richard Castle sits at their table, next to the window looking out across Mason street in the north part of San Francisco. The narrow street winds through the neighborhood just a few miles off Fisherman's Wharf, but culturally a lifetime away from the hustle and bustle of that retail tourist attraction. The restaurant is reputed to be the oldest Italian restaurant in San Francisco, and newly re-built on Mason Street after a fire destroyed the original site. It wasn't Castle's first choice, but evidently she knows her restaurants. They both love Italian food, and Castle marveled at the thought that she seems to know more about San Francisco restaurants than he does, and he lives here.

He glances again at the women's restroom toward the left side of the restaurant, idly wondering what she – or any woman, for that matter – can possibly be doing in the rest room for so long. A thin smirk escapes before he can rein it in and he chuckles to himself.

"_Wow, she is taking forever"_, he thinks to himself.

He is so excited to have her here in California. The safe houses are well into construction, and so far, everything is on track for a mid-December opening. She was beyond excited when he had called to ask her to be a part of the process he was setting up for the women who would live in The Castles. Her expertise with criminal cases – particularly involving women as victims – will be a huge benefit as she speaks to the women and their families. The seminars on personal safety will be a staple of the healing and learning he hopes to bring about with these families. Originally he had thought that Lindy or Dawn would handle these seminars, and perhaps they still will in many cases, because she won't always be available to drop everything and fly out here – not with her job. But the idea of having a strong, professional woman from law enforcement appealed too much to him, and he wants her to run the first seminar that launches the project, when the first women and their families are admitted into the homes.

For her part, she has insisted on seeing things first-hand, before the finished product is to be unveiled. This entire operation still surprises her somewhat. It isn't the idea of Castle wanting to do something like this that surprises her. It is simply the fact that he has taken that all-important first step – moving this thing beyond just an idea. More than that - the fact that he is taking such a hands-on role with this is just amazing. She'd always just assumed that writing – being a writer – was who Richard Castle was. Yeah, he enjoyed playing detective, but - like everyone else – she knew his ongoing motivation on that front was far more personally motivated. But this hands-on approach, that spurred him to leave all of that behind him – the writing, the detective work, even _her_ – that is, indeed, surprising to say the least.

Forget how she feels about him personally – this is just impressive.

These are some of her thoughts as she stares at herself in the mirror in the women's restroom, touching up her hair. Richard Castle continues to surprise her. It is a thought that brings another smile to her face, and she cautions herself as she walks out of the women's room back to the table.

He sees her approaching, and she rolls her eyes a bit at the smirk plastered across his face. His last words to her before she left the table – almost ten minutes ago – had been "don't take too long, now". She wonders what sarcastic remark he will greet her with as he stands and pulls out her chair for her.

"You will have to explain this concept of 'freshening up' to me someday" he chuckles as he sits back down.

"Nothing to explain at all, Rick," she smiles demurely. "I just want to make sure I am looking my best when I am sitting at dinner with 'Mr. Ruggedly Handsome' himself," she continues.

"Ah, that's clearly an upgrade from celebrity-writer-tag-along," he laughs, then replies knowingly, "And I see you have indeed been speaking with our detective," he smiles.

"Actually, more often than I would have ever guessed," Agent Jordan Shaw replies. "We spoke last night. And a couple of weeks ago. Her birthday. She was disappointed. But you already know that."

Castle nods his head in agreement. Kate's birthday was just 11 days ago, on the 17th. They had planned on that being her first trip out to California to see him in his new environment, to see his new home, his new city. And of course, to see what he was building out here that had him so excited. Fate, however, had other plans, and they both knew this would not be the last time a murder got in the way of a long-planned get-together.

Now, with that planned trip having fallen through, it is now going on almost a month since he last saw Kate Beckett at the airport in New York after 'the great bank robbery' as the two of them have referred to it during their phone calls. When he boarded his flight that evening, leaving New York – and Kate – he was positive that he would be seeing her in a few weeks for her birthday in California. In fact, he had already started making those plans while on the plane streaking back to California. Plans that had been crushed the night before her birthday as she told him they hadn't made progress on the case she was working on.

"Yeah, that was – what was the word you used – disappointing. That doesn't even begin to cover it," he states as he takes a sip of the rum and coke that the overly-attentive waiter has just left at the table, with a boyish smile at Agent Shaw. Castle smiles at the effect that Jordan seems to have on the waiter, who is far from a young man in this establishment. The thought is immediately put out of his head.

"_Who wouldn't fawn over her,"_ he thinks to himself. _"The woman is drop-dead gorgeous."_

"The surprising thing, Rick, is that you haven't rescheduled with her," Jordan states, as she dips another slice of her small loaf in the olive oil on the plate between them. "I get her not being able to come out here because of her case, and I get why you hadn't planned on going there. You want her to see your new home and all," she continues.

"What I don't get, though, is why you haven't set up another trip – for either of you."

"Wait a minute," Castle interrupts. "You spoke with her _last night_?"

"Well, yes. Kate and I have become – well, I won't say close. I don't have many close female friends. But over the past few months, Kate and I have developed a . . . I don't know, a kinship. And we've just gotten closer over these months since you left."

Jordan takes a quick sip of her glass of red wine, and then finishes her thoughts on the New York City detective who has surprisingly become a good friend of hers since Castle's departure for New York.

"She's a special lady. I can see why you care for her so much."

"Why Agent Shaw," Castle laughs, his boyish charm on full display. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you have a thing for our detective. And if that is true, I insist of being able to watch – at least once."

"Geesh, Castle, what are you? Fifteen!?"

"Actually, Kate says I'm nine."

"On a sugar rush," Jordan adds with a chuckle.

"You_ have_ been talking to her!" Castle says, feigning alarm.

"You still haven't answered my question, _Mr. Castle_", Jordan says, emphasizing his name and bringing the conversation back to her original line of questioning. "Are you having second thoughts about you and Kate?"

"Jordan, I've had second, third and fourth thoughts about this," Castle admits – never taking his eyes away from hers. She notices, for probably the third time this evening – and it's still early – a different fire in those blue eyes. She's known Castle for roughly a year and a half now, but this the first time she has seen him since their case back in New York in March of last year. And while she remembered the playful, smirking blue eyes, these blues are different. There is something different . . . there is almost an edge to Richard Castle now.

She knows she could have gotten playfully lost in those eyes from over a year ago – and nearly did. But these eyes – oh they are much more interesting.

_**He**_ is much more interesting.

"Kate and I don't have . . . Kate and I don't have the best track record, to say the least," Castle continues. "I'm crazy about her, you know that. You've probably known longer than she and I have, if you're like everyone else. But deep love or not, I have no illusions when it comes to Kate. Love might not be enough."

"That's the best a world-famous writer can come up with," questions Jordan with another smirk herself. "Love might not be enough?"

"Tell me I'm wrong," he states evenly as he eyes her, and for a brief second, goose-bumps flare up underneath her long-sleeved blouse.

For a brief moment, Jordan is glad she went to the women's room to say goodnight to her daughter, Jenna, who is three hours ahead of California time and has school in the morning. She was late making the call, and is fortunate that she was still awake, waiting for her call. She makes a mental note to spend an extra few minutes on the phone tonight with Tom, her husband. For multiple reasons.

"No. Not wrong. As I told Kate – the two of you need a little bit of luck, a little providence, to help your little thing along", she answers. "You two haven't had it easy, and haven't done much to _make_ it easy either."

"Can't disagree with you" he offers up. "And to answer your question, I don't know why I haven't rescheduled anything. I know she can't really make plans unless she uses vacation, and we kind of talked about saving her vacation for Christmas. So it doesn't really make sense to try to do anything before then. I can't leave right now, as we are too close to launching . . . which, by the way, is the point of our delicious meal together this evening", he reminds her, smiling.

"Yes, it is," Jordan agrees.

He needs to get this conversation back on track, because if he is honest with himself, he knows there is more than a small pull, a noticeable tug on him when it comes to Jordan. Sure, he had admittedly been more than slightly enthralled with her toys and quick mind last year during the case. But picking her up at the airport terminal earlier this afternoon in South San Francisco was also a quick reminder that this was one beautiful woman.

For the next hour, over dinner, they discuss Castle's plans for the shelter homes across the bridge. Jordan Shaw cannot help herself as she gets caught up in Rick's excitement. She is anxious to see the construction – which Rick says is in the final stages for next month's opening. Inspections begin next week, and she notices the nervousness in him as he speaks about passing the inspections in time for the planned opening. The architectural diagrams are impressive, and she idly wonders how close the grounds and the buildings will be to what she has seen on the plans.

Now, she and Rick are streaking along 101, just across the Golden Gate Bridge heading into Sausalito. She agreed to spend the night at Casa Castle with Rick and Alexis so they could get an early start in the morning on the property. She feels a pang of guilt, knowing that she is going to see both his house and his new life's passion before Kate Beckett. She quickly puts the thought out of her head.

"_These two make their own decisions – they have their own drumbeat,"_ she reminds herself.

_**The Previous Evening, Nov 27, 2011, New York City**_

Kate Beckett sits on her sofa in her apartment, her feet propped up on the coffee table. She's digging around inside her styrofoam container for the last of her orange chicken from the Chinese take-out down the street. With the last bite, she puts her chopsticks into the container and takes a pull on her bottled water.

She picks up her phone and types a quick message, and sends it to Javier.

_Thanks again, Javi. I owe you big time._

Putting her phone down, she leans back and closes her eyes again, trying to relax and unwind. A glass of wine would normally be perfect right now, but she's too tired to move off the couch.

Her phone pings and she smiles as she reads the response text from Esposito.

_Beckett, stop. We're partners._

This last case has re-opened old wounds. She had thought she was really making progress moving past being shot. But this sniper case proved that she still has a way to go. Esposito's hands-on approach probably accelerated things significantly on her behalf. He's a great friend – the older brother she never had. She needs to tell him this more often. She knows he knows this. They both do. Still, she needs to tell him more often.

Just then her phone rings. She looks down and smiles as she sees the contact name, along with the cartoon of a female knight fighting a dragon. She uploaded the image to her phone for Jordan's contact to remind her that a 'normal family life' with kids is still possible for her.

"Jordan," she answers.

"Hello Nikki," Jordan responds, and both women chuckle.

"Not for a while now," Kate adds a little wistfully.

"Yeah, I know," Jordan states, "but you will live on in print for all time."

"As a fictional slutty cop", Kate smiles.

"Fictional?" Jordan asks, smiling herself. It's typical of the banter the two women fall into with every phone call.

Kate thinks back to her session with Dr. Burke almost four months ago. He had – she thought – aimlessly mentioned that she had no real female friends. Of course, nothing the good doctor does is aimless. Her response had been that there aren't a lot of female detectives on the force.

His response had been pointed.

"You can't have an excuse for everything, Kate. That's unrealistic – and eventually unhealthy."

That had stung, for certain. But it also did get her thinking. Was there someone out there, like her, that she knew. Was there someone who she thought might understand – might have something positive to offer in the way of advice, or at least a couple of ears that would just listen? The FBI profiler came to mind, and was immediately dismissed. No, she couldn't really tell for certain if the excitement Castle had shown for Agent Shaw was really all about toys and gadgets.

"_She's the Federal you,"_ he had told her when she originally asked about him Agent Shaw over a year ago, during the bombing case. Did that mean that he saw some of Kate in the federal agent? And if so, how much?

And why exactly had she not taken advantage of the situation while staying at his loft after her apartment was blown up, anyway?

Beckett had pushed those thoughts out. But in the next days, Agent Jordan Shaw kept coming back to mind. A few nights later, Kate had called Jordan. From there, an unlikely – if not long-delayed friendship – had begun to blossom.

Kate's mind is snapped back to the present, hearing Jordan's laughter on the phone.

"So, what can New York's Finest do for you, Agent Shaw?" Kate asks, leaning back into the sofa and taking another drink from her water bottle.

"I just want to give you a heads-up, woman to woman," Jordan begins. "I'm flying out to San Francisco tomorrow afternoon to sit down with Castle. He asked me to come out to visit his project, and to speak at the initial session once it opens. I want to get a first-hand look at things before it opens."

Kate feels the back of her throat begin to momentarily constrict, and she downs a couple of long gulps of water to catch her breath. Castle asked Jordan. He didn't ask her. He asked Jordan. She wasn't aware he was even talking to Jordan. Yeah, she had told Castle about her talks with Jordan. But she didn't realize that he was talking with her as well.

"Kate? I hope that was water I heard you guzzling and not something stronger," Jordan offers.

"I'm sorry, Jordan. That was just . . . I just . . . Ok, that threw me for a little loop, okay?"

"That's why I am calling you, Kate. I know Castle is going to call you as well, but I wanted you to hear it first from me, so your mind doesn't go wandering down any rabbit holes," Jordan continues. She knows the fragile thread that holds the Beckett-Castle blanket together, and she doesn't want to do anything to burn the trust that she and Kate are developing.

Truth is, she doesn't have any close friends outside of Jason Avery, her fellow federal agent. Tom is wonderful, of course, and Jenna is her little angel. But outside friendships – the right ones – can be special, can be helpful. This friendship with Kate is doing good things for her as well as Beckett. And she, too, is well aware of the connection she formed with Richard Castle last year. She's hoping that both can be good friends, long term, for her.

"So, what is happening in California to pull you out there?" Kate asks, somewhat wary of whatever possible answer she may hear from her friend.

"Castle said he wants a strong, female from law enforcement to introduce to his . . . his clients, I guess you would call them," she states, but questioning the term.

"A strong, fema-" Kate begins, but is quickly interrupted by Jordan.

"Hold on, hold on – I know what you are thinking, and trust me, I thought the exact same thing," Shaw states emphatically. "But what Castle said made sense to me. And – as I told him – it would really be better if you heard his reasoning directly from him, because it really does make sense. I just wanted you to hear – from me – that I am heading out there. Why he asked for me instead of you – that's better for you to hear from him."

A few months ago, Kate Beckett might have reacted differently – over reacted. Tonight, while she is far from unconcerned, she's going to give her new friend the benefit of the doubt. Or she's going to give Castle the benefit of the doubt. She and Castle have talked about building a relationship over a long distance – over 3 time zones. The first thing they agreed upon was that they had to give one another the benefit of trust.

"I'm at least four hours away on the fastest charter plane," Castle had said a couple of days after he returned to California from New York last month. "I can't just pop over to your apartment – so I'm just going to have to assume that you are in this boat with me," he had stated.

Of course, he had then spent the next ten, or so, frustrating minutes talking out loud - almost to himself - about how and why that might be the stupidest decision in his life, while Beckett sat on the other end of the phone listening to his two-sided conversation.

That had led – fortunately – to the 21 inch iMac computer that he'd had delivered to her apartment that next weekend, and the constant FaceTime video conversations that began to replace their evening phone calls. They both agreed that seeing each other was better – and more fun – than simple phone calls.

Which brings her back to her present – phone based – conversation with Jordan.

"Kate? Kate, are you still there?" Jordan asks, now somewhat concerned.

"I'm here, Jordan. I'm here. Just processing", Kate states, rubbing her hand back and forth across her forehead.

"I appreciate you calling and telling me this, Jordan. You're right, I'm sure Rick will tell me everything, but had I heard this much from him instead of you, I . . . well . . . you're right, I would have wondered what in the hell you were doing," she offers, with a bit of a forced laugh.

"No problem, Kate," Shaw says. "I _am_ looking forward to seeing what he is doing though. Amazing to think that of all the people on the planet to want to do something like this, Richard Castle is one of them who steps up. Can't say I saw that one coming."

"Me either," states Kate. "Me either. And I often wonder what that says about me, and how I view him."

"It says nothing at all, Kate," Jordan says quickly. "I just wonder what happened in Castle's lifetime . . . what happened that none of us are aware of that put this spark inside him."

"That's a good question for me to ask him later tonight when I talk with him. I know I don't ask enough about The Castles –"

"Cool name," Jordan interrupts.

"I know, isn't it! It's so . . . him. "

"He's a special man, Kate," Jordan replies.

"Yeah, well you just remember that he is accounted for, miss federal dragon-slayer", Kate smiles.

"Yeah, yeah, I will do my best," chuckles Jordan.

"Do your best? What's that supposed to mean," Kate counters.

"Oh, c'mon Kate – the man's hot!" Jordan states, laughing loudly as she hangs up the call, leaving Kate Beckett staring at her phone.

"Oh, she did not just do that –" Kate exclaims, walking over to the iMac and punching up her history of calls before clicking on Jordan's name and image. One ring later, she sees Jordan's laughing face, with Jenna sitting on her lap. Kate laughs herself, realizing that Jordan was waiting for her video call.

"You and Jenna have been sitting there through our entire conversation," Kate states, not asking.

"Yep. Say hi to Detective Kate, sweetie."

"Hi Detective Katie," Jenna offers sweetly, a big smile plastered on her face.

"Hi sweetie," Kate says. "Your mommy is a real trickster."

Jordan and Jenna laugh and high-five each other. "Told you she would call," Jordan says to her little daughter.

"If you wanted a video call, why didn't you just ping me that way," Kate asks, sitting down at the desk.

"Ah, this is more fun, and you know it, Kate," she counters. "It's good to be a ten year old every now and then, isn't it?"

"I know one of those," Kate smiles wistfully.

"I know you do," Jordan replies.

"Did Castle tell you that I didn't get out there for my birthday?" Kate asks.

"No . . . no he didn't," Jordan replies.

Maybe that explains why Kate seems a little 'off' tonight. She knows from their last conversation that Kate was really looking forward to going to California for her birthday. Getting out of the city, getting somewhere different where she and Castle could start to create their own memories – free from murders and their past history.

She had purposely not called Kate on her birthday, assuming that she would be . . . busy for a few days and into the weekend. She had texted her with a quick "Happy Birthday, Detective" for her birthday, and had gotten a short, sweet "Thanks J" back from Kate. She had – she now realizes - incorrectly assumed that the brevity had something to do with a certain handsome writer in northern California.

"What happened, Kate?" she asks. "I thought Castle had your day all planned out."

"He did," Kate replies sadly. "Murder case came up. We couldn't get it solved in time. I couldn't just walk away."

More than anyone else, Jordan Shaw understands what that had to have been like. She's missed her fair share of important family events being called out of town, out of state for various cases.

"Remember what I told you the first time you asked me how I do it?" Jordan asks her.

"Yeah – you miss a few birthdays and you make a lot of phone calls" Beckett replies.

"So . . . the two of you have just missed a birthday. No one is stopping you from jumping on a plane to see him, Kate. Surely you have time off you can use", Jordan responds.

"We're looking at me coming out there in a few weeks, for Christmas. I've already put in my vacation request, so I should have no issues this time."

"Well, make sure you don't, Kate," Jordan warns. Kate sees the honesty in her friend's eyes. "There is no shortage of women in San Francisco that wouldn't want to learn more about our ex-writer, and they don't have the scruples I possess."

Kate thinks about this for a moment, and before she can respond, Jordan signs off. "Ta ta, detective. I have to get my little angel to bed."

Kate pushes herself away from the desk and walks back to the living room. She picks up her empty container of Chinese food, and drops it in the trash can in the kitchen. After tidying up, she heads to her bathroom and turns the shower on. The button up blouse is quickly discarded, and she unsnaps her bra, which quickly joins the blouse in the dirty clothes hamper in the closet. Stepping out of her slacks and panties, she steps into the shower, and lets the body wash and hot water soak away the remnants of her sniper case.

Twenty-five minutes later, her hair is still damp, straight down her shoulders as she sits in front of the computer yet again, this time in shorts and a sweat top. She pulls up Castle's image and clicks on it to start the video call. She's hoping he will be there, because she really wants to just get to bed early tonight, but she definitely wants to talk. After fifteen seconds of ringing, however, she disconnects.

"_It's barely 6pm there, so he's probably still out on the property",_ she thinks to herself, as she picks up her phone and begins calling him. _"The property that I have seen yet . . ."_

He answers on the second ring.

"Hello, detective – what a pleasant surprise so early in the evening", he begins. "I thought we had a video date for tonight at 7 my time."

"I'm sorry Rick – long day, we finally caught the sniper, and I just need to get horizontal soon", she explains.

"That's great – that's wonderful. Are you okay?"

He knows the effect this case was having on her, and it is one of those times where he cannot obliterate the guilty feelings that are pummeling him. He wishes he were there to help her work through things – but just as quickly reminds himself that that is precisely what he can't do. Being at her beck and call is how he ended up on the short end of the stick for all those years.

"I'm good – I'm good," she responds. After a short pause, she jumps right into things.

"I heard from Jordan earlier tonight."

Castle knows about the budding friendship between the two women. Kate had let him in on that a couple of weeks ago, after he returned from New York. Castle was actually thrilled for her - to hear about Kate and Jordan. He thought the two women had much more in common than either would admit, and truth be told, he considered Jordan a lot more together with her life than Kate. Of course, Jordan didn't have the baggage that Kate dragged around, but gosh, was there a better mentor or role model for Kate out there than the woman juggling criminals on a federal level with a happy home life with a husband and a daughter?

"Good, good," he responds. "She told you she is coming out here tomorrow?"

"Yes, she did. I have to admit – and I know you and your massive ego will love this – I was a bit jealous when she told me", Kate replies.

"No reason to be, Kate. You know that. You have nothing to worry about. You know that I go for the gorgeous, strong, law enforcement type . . . Oh, wait a minute, that perfectly describes –"

"Castle!"

"Uh oh . . . too much?" he asks. "We're suddenly back to last name basis again. You know you have nothing to worry about, Kate – don't you?"

"I hope not Cas . . . Rick. But you know me, I'm not the overly-secure type these days. It's bad enough you live out there so close to Meredith."

"You mean my cheating, daughter-abandoning bitch of an ex-wife?" he asks.

"Castle, you've _had sex_ with that – quote – cheating, daughter-abandoning bitch – unquote, numerous times since your divorce, if memory serves."

"Well, I . . . um . . . you see . . . Ok, I've got nothing."

She can almost hear the motors turning in Castle's head and decides to take him off the hook.

"Seriously, Rick – why her? Why Jordan? Why not ask me to do this for you?" He can hear the hurt in her voice, even though she tries to disguise it. "I would have loved to do this for you."

"I know you would have, Kate – and believe me – I do want you to do this for me – I want you to do this _with_ me someday. But hear me out, okay?" he asks. He takes her silence as an affirmative response, and continues.

"Two reasons. First, I want you out here with me for the grand opening – but just to be here with me. Kind of moral support, if you will. Not in the trenches. This will be your first time in California with me, and I don't want it to be work-related. I want you relaxing. I hope you understand. You don't have to agree," he states, "but I hope you understand."

She begins to counter, but he interrupts her and continues.

"Second – and this is just as important, Kate. People know me as the mystery writer. There are a lot of people who know me in that capacity here. It's almost like New York." He realizes he is rambling, but he needs for her to understand.

"Every meeting I go to, there are a few books that appear out of nowhere for me to sign," he continues, now leaning against the counter in one of the safe homes being constructed.

"I'm trying to establish a new reputation here – not as the writer, playboy, page-six bachelor. That is the last thing these women will want or need to see. That's the last thing the benefactors I meet with want to see. And the minute I introduce you into the program, people are going to put two and two together. They will see you, recognize your name, and immediately jump to Nikki Heat. Which puts me back into playboy status."

He now wishes he were at home, and they were on a video call. He wishes he could see her face, but more, he wishes she could see his. This is important to him – probably more important than she still realizes.

"This is important to-"

"I get it, Castle. I get it, Rick. That makes sense. You're right, no woman escaping a bad situation is going to feel trusting of someone perceived to be the typical playboy – and I can see how having me there could foster that thinking. But aren't you going to have that result anyway if I am there at all?"

"I don't think so. If I don't introduce you to the families, they won't know you. But they will see you with me – and hopefully they will get used to seeing you with me, Kate. There will always be a good time to introduce you to my clients, and a good time to bring you into the program – if that is what you want."

"I do. I'd love to do this with you," she replies.

"Then you will – but the first time out of the shoot, I really would rather have you here by my side, not in the classroom, so to speak. I know you might not agree, but do you at least get what I am trying to say?"

"I do, Rick. And I'm glad you want me out there with you. So – are you asking me to come out earlier than the 24th, because I would need to change my vacation request."

"I'm scheduled to open Monday the 19th. You said you still have 10 days of vacation for the rest of the year. Could you come out on the 18th and stay for 10 days?"

"I can put in for it – I'm sure Gates will be okay with this," she says, running a hand through her curls, mentally creating her rationale for Gates.

"But that means we don't get New Year's together," she states. Just as quickly, however, she remembers a couple of sick days that she has. "Let me sit down with Gates and see what we can work out. A couple of weeks away from here would do me some good – and those weeks with you would be really nice, Rick."

"More than really nice. There are so many places I want to take you – so much I want to show you," Castle says, excitedly.

"Okay, let me get back to you tomorrow on this. I will talk with Gates in the morning," Kate says.

"So . . . no video call tonight?" he asks, already disappointed.

"I'm sorry Rick – just give me a day to unwind and catch up. This one was tough."

"I understand. I will call you tomorrow."

"I'll be waiting," she responds, and then clicks off.

_**Back to the evening of Nov 28, 2011, San Francisco, California – at Castle's Home**_

Castle steps out of the shower and quickly grabs a towel to dry off with. Jordan and Alexis are downstairs in the living room, probably still watching television. The two hit it off right away. Castle had forgotten that Alexis had never met the federal agent – although she had heard a great deal about her last year during that particular case. Yeah, they had hit it off well – almost too well.

Castle knows that his daughter has only a grudging acceptance of his potential relationship with Kate Beckett. Even though Kate was instrumental in keeping him alive in the bank last month, Alexis still looks at her as the woman who – as Alexis said early after they arrived in California – _"crushed the life out of your heart and then stomped on it for good measure."_

So yeah, Kate has a ways to go with Alexis – which is another reason he is hoping Kate can stay out here for an extended period of time.

He walks downstairs, hearing the laughter coming from the living room. He idly wishes the laughter was between his daughter and a different law enforcement officer from the east coast. Perhaps Kate's visit next month will be a catalyst for something good between her and Alexis.

He can only hope. He walks up to Alexis, who is sitting on the couch, and bends to kiss her forehead.

"Love you, pumpkin," he says, looking down at the sparkling eyes of his not-so-little-anymore redhead.

"Love you, too, Dad," she responds in kind.

"I'm turning in for the night. Jordan, everything is in your room, so make yourself at home," he says. "I will see you in the morning."

"Are you making pancakes in the morning, dad? For our guest?" Alexis asks. The glimmer in her eyes tells Castle she has something in mind, and now he really wishes he'd been a fly on the wall for their conversation downstairs.

"I don't know – I haven't thought about it yet-"

"Don't go to any trouble on my account, Rick," Jordan says, trying to help Castle out of the mud hole his scheming daughter has dropped them into.

"Oh, it's no problem," Alexis interrupts. "Dad loves doing this sort of thing. Don't you dad?"

"_God help me,"_ Castle thinks to himself, walking back up the stairs, wondering how in the world he is going to navigate through this one.

**AN:** Jordan Shaw remains my favorite 'guest character' in the Castle universe. I'll be the first to admit I'm a huge Dana Delaney fan, but the character was just so spot on for the show. A "federal you" indeed. I've always wanted them to bring her back, and for she and Kate to develop a friendship. Of all the guest characters appearing on the show, Jordan Shaw was the one character I thought could really be good for and interact well with Beckett, for the good of our favorite detective. The fact that there could be some underlying jealousy for Kate over Shaw would have been just icing on the cake.

Regardless, thanks for those who are still with me on this journey. We are coming into the home stretch.


	9. Chapter 9

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 9**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Dec 18, 2011, San Francisco, California**_

It's 7pm and San Francisco International is busy tonight. Richard Castle watches the travelers as they enter into the make-shift TSA security lines, saying their goodbyes to friends and loved ones. He watches the smiles, the waves, and a few tears as those not traveling stand back behind the lines of those who are departing.

He's waiting for Kate, and he knows from the monitors hanging behind him that her plane has already landed. He'd bought a first class ticket for her from LaGuardia to San Francisco, but she had to make a connection at O'Hare. O'Hare in the winter is always a roll of the dice, and he was thinking this morning that it was just their luck that another winter storm was pressing down on Chicago. Thankfully, however, her flight had amazingly left within a few minutes of the scheduled departure time.

"_A good sign,"_ he'd thought to himself when he checked the status of the flight on his mobile phone and found that it had departed the windy city.

Now he's just playing the waiting game, and it is killing him. He watches the departing passengers, knowing that he gets to experience the opposite end of that scene. Kate is arriving, not departing . . . at least not for a while.

He wonders – yet again – how this trip is going to turn out. They have spent a number of evenings on video with each other, and the conversations have never really turned serious. Even face-to-face, they have fallen back into the familiar, comfortable pattern. They talk about work, they talk about his family, they talk about Javi and Ryan and Lanie. She does open up, however, about her conversations with Dr. Burke, and Castle is the first to admit the man is doing wonders to help her. He's also glad that she has found a friend in Jordan Shaw. Jordan arrives in two days, for the initial sessions.

The one difference that he has noticed about their video conversations, however, is the softer tone to their banter. It's a little less sarcastic, a little less biting. Oh, it's still playful, but in an almost fluffy kind of way that really has started to make both of them feel a little uncomfortable. They've never known how to do normal with each other. Is this what normal feels like?

Meredith wasn't normal. Gina wasn't normal. Is this what it is supposed to be like?

His phone pings him, interrupting this thoughts, and he reaches into his pocket to open the text message he knows is from Mike Monroe, based upon the military ring tone.

"_All set. First families arrive tomorrow morning at 9am"_

"_How many?"_ Castle types back.

"Mom! Dad!" Castle hears a young man shout, as he walks through the security area towards the older couple standing next to him. He watches their reunion with a slight smile. The butterflies in his stomach flutter wildly in anticipation.

"_My turn soon enough"_ he thinks to himself, as he hears the military ping on his phone again.

"_11 so far" _is the response from Mike.

"_Good. See you in the morning – 7am my place"_ Castle types.

"_Affirmative"_

A few seconds later, he sees her walking up to him, through the passenger deplaning area past the security guard. She's takes his already shortened breath away from him, wearing a long-sleeved, calf-length black sweater-dress, with calf-high black boots with a short heel. Her hair is down, bouncing off her shoulders and slightly down her arms. He smiles, knowing the surprise he has waiting for her will go nicely with what she is wearing.

"_Yeah, a really good sign,"_ he tells himself. _"My God, she is beautiful."_

She carries a knee-length coat. _"Good,"_ he thinks. _"She's going to need that coat here. The cold here is different than the New York winter cold."_

She sees him, and the smile that beams across her face melts him immediately. Long has he dreamed that he could bring about that kind of smile from Kate Beckett.

Genuine. Not forced or contrived. Just seven or so months ago he had given up on that dream. Yet there it is – that smile – aimed at him . . . just for him.

She has only her purse with her, as she has a large suitcase that she checked through that they will need to pick up at baggage claim. She's going to be here in California for a total of fifteen days. Turns out that she had twelve vacation days instead of ten, and 'somehow' she had three sick days remaining for 2011. She has wondered a few times if this wasn't some kind of Christmas gift from Gates, but that would be so far out of character that she has dismissed the idea each time. Regardless, knowing that none of those days would carry over into 2012, she is taking every single one of them, and intends to make the most of each and every one of them.

As she walks towards him, she notices the large lavender roses he holds in his hands. They are the largest lavenders she has ever seen, as normally they are smaller – at least the ones she has seen. The caterpillar in her own stomach selects that very moment to burst from his cocoon, and she shudders at the sudden lightness.

He hands her the roses, which she immediately brings to her nostrils. She closes her eyes, taking in the sweet fragrance with a deep breath, and smiles again. When she opens her eyes, she finds herself staring into those blue eyes she has grown to miss so much.

"Kate," Castle says in greeting, but he is surprised when she simply takes a step forward, turning her head, and burying her cheek into his chest, her arms wrapped around him in a hug. He answers her with his arms embracing her, his chin on her head. They stay like this for more than a few seconds – neither of them saying a word.

"Castle," she finally manages, falling back into her last-name habit with him. But he doesn't mind, because he hears the deep emotion in that one word. It sounds like what can only be described as a beautiful sob – and his next words to her falter just as much as they leave his lips.

"I . . . I'm afraid I don't have the words, Kate," he finally gets out.

"Then we're in trouble already," she says with a slightly teary laugh, "because you're the wordsmith here."

"Not tonight, I'm afraid," he responds. "Not tonight."

"We will have to work on that, won't we . . ." she offers him with a small demure smile, her eyes glistening with moisture.

He sees the pools in her eyes, and they dampen his own. He tries to lighten the mood.

"Of course, perhaps what I have planned for this evening might not require a lot of words," he smirks.

"In the gutter already, Castle?" she chuckles.

"The gutter might be more fun that you think, Beckett".

"You're such a child," she laughs.

"You're such a tease," he counters.

There. There is that familiar banter. He's not sure if that is good news or not, because what he wants desperately with this woman is something new, something fresh. If this is going to be two weeks of the same old-same old, then he is so not interested. She snuffs out that tiny shred of doubt as she re-embraces him, then pulls away and softly drops the lavenders in her hands to the floor. She places both hands behind his head and pulls him down to her, until her forehead is locked with his.

"God, Rick, I have missed you so damn much," she whispers, and he almost misses it.

"Me too, Kate," he responds, with just as much emotion, trying to keep himself in check, and failing miserably. "I ran away from you as far as I could, and it didn't work."

"I'm so sorry, Castle," she offers him.

"Sorry for what?" he asks, surprised at her apology.

"For pushing you away. For making you run," she gives him. "For lying to you, for walling you off-"

He takes her hands, and pushes himself away from her forehead, a new determination building inside him. He wanted different. This is different. It's time to take advantage of the 'different' that is being offered to him. He looks down at her, holding her shoulders now.

"Kate, look at me," he says, and she lifts her gaze to meet his, as he continues.

"I can sit here and apologize for running away, but I'm not going to. I left for good reasons, and I'm glad I did," he tells her. He doesn't wait for any reaction from her because he needs to get this out, and these are the kinds of things they _haven't_ said on video chats. These are the kind of moments they have managed _not _to have up to this moment in time.

"In the same way, you pushed me away, you held me off, you walled me off for your own good reasons. I don't know what they are, but for whatever reason, that is what you had to do at the time."

He feels her – he literally feels her relief as her body relaxes and she leans into him, but he holds her off yet again. He's not finished yet.

"Now we can spend our time standing here apologizing, or we can go and grab your bags and build something beautiful over the next two weeks that dwarf the past we both are apologetic about," he finishes.

Her eyes still glisten, and a small smile fights for control on Kate's face.

"I see you found your words again, Mr. Castle," she smiles.

With that, he takes her hand and guides her down the escalator toward the baggage claim for her flight. They make small talk about her flight and about the team back in New York while waiting for her bag. When her bag comes down, he grabs it and they walk up the escalator and catch the elevator and head into the garage. He rolls her bag with his left hand while his right hand is interwoven with her left hand.

Kate laughs out loud as they approach – still a good fifty feet away – the black Ferrari who's lights have just flashed as Castle depressed the unlock button on the key remote.

"Oh, we've gone black now?" she purrs up into his ear. "Do I have something to worry about?"

"Ha!" he counters. "You have so much to worry about, detective."

"Promises, promises" she challenges.

Minutes later they are out of the airport on 101 heading north into the city. It's a cool San Francisco night so he has the top up for the ride to the western beach area where he has dinner planned. He's ticking off in his head – one by one – the little things he has planned for the evening, when he notices she has become quiet. He glances over her and knows immediately where her mind is. He's been expecting this.

The last time – as far as he knows and he is pretty certain about this – that Kate was in the San Francisco area was when she was enrolled at Stanford as a pre-law student. Her mother's murder changed her plans, and she transferred to NYU, and changed her discipline to law enforcement. He knows she is mentally revisiting that time, that era . . . that phone call from home.

"New memories, Kate," he says to her. He keeps his eyes on the road, and there is an icy determination in those blues right now. She turns to face him, and he catches this out of the corner of his eyes, but intentionally does not look at her. Eyes still straight ahead on the road, he tells her again.

"New memories, Kate."

She takes his right hand into her left hand, interlocking the fingers. She brings his fingers up to her lips. His breath catches as she softly kisses his fingers. He wanted new. This is new.

She keeps his fingers locked into hers, then turns her face back to her window, and gazes out at the bay water, seeing Candlestick Park in the distance to her right.

For his part, he just wants to pull his fingers to his lips so he can taste what she left on him, but the last thing he will do at this moment is stop holding the hand, the fingers that he has long wanted to hold in this manner.

They are both silent now for the next few minutes as he hurls them into the city. Castle has plugged his iPhone into the car jack and has a 1980's power ballad playlist pulled up. As the sounds of the first notes of "Is this Love" by Whitesnake play from the car speakers, Kate rolls her eyes pointedly, looking at Castle.

"Seriously?" she asks.

"You pick something, then," he tells her. "Something fitting for tonight."

She takes picks up his iPhone and starts scrolling through the songs, before switching to an Artist view. Just as Castle mentions that – given the city they are in, something from Journey might be appropriate – he hears the first piano notes from her selection and starts to laugh.

She turns her head back to the window, smiling, as they hit the downtown exit, and start up towards Market Street.

"I'm just a small-time girl," she sings.

"Livin' in a lonely world," he finishes.

"I took the midnight train goin' anywhere," she continues along with Steve Perry. He laughs as he notices how she has inserted herself into the song, first-person. He falls in line with her.

"I'm just a city boy" he sings.

"Born and raised in South Detroit?" and he chuckles at the question she sings, then finishes his part.

"I took the midnight train goin' anywhere."

They both laugh as the piano and guitars lead them into the second verse. _"Yeah, this is new,"_ he thinks to himself as he hits Market street, and winds his way through traffic searching for Geary Street. From there, it's a long, straight shot to the Pacific, and their reservations at the Cliff House.

"_This can be good,"_ he thinks to himself, and tightens his grip on the small, demure hand offered next to him, and smiles as she turns the volume up and starts to sing along again.

"A singer in a smoky room – the smell of wine and cheap perfume . . ."

He joins in with her as he presses the accelerator, flying uphill on Geary, managing to hit the next few green lights, spurring them onward.

"For a smile we can share the night, it goes on and on and on and on . . ."

**AN:** Next Chapter – dinner at the Cliff House.


	10. Chapter 10

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 10**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Still Dec 18, 2011, San Francisco, California**_

They have finally run into a couple of red lights on Geary, now around 12th Avenue. They are still a good 40 or so blocks east of the Pacific, but Castle knows it won't take long – less than ten minutes to get to the restaurant. Kate, however, is now lost in thought, taking in the sights.

It's been well over a decade since she has been here. Parts of the city are the same, but so much is different. The Sound Warehouse where she used to come in to buy CDs is now gone. She didn't even recognize what it had become. She glances to her right, outside her window, and notices the 38 Geary bus line as it passes them. The MUNI bus brings back memories. She often took this bus line from downtown to the Pacific back in her college days. She smiles at the memory, then notices the large billboard plastered along the side of the bus.

_Help is just a call away. 1 800-Castles for a safe home._

For the first time, she fully comprehends the magnitude of the undertaking Richard Castle has launched himself into.

"Rick – that bus . . ."

"Yeah, we figured that is probably one of the easiest ways – in _this_ city – to get the word out."

She smiles, still touching his hand.

"I'm so proud of you, Castle."

He smiles, a big smile. Her approval isn't why he has done this, of course. But her approval, for pretty much anything, always means something to him, no matter how hard he has fought against it, and against her.

He is about to comment when Kate notices that they are approaching 14th Avenue.

"Castle, slow down for a minute!" she almost shouts, tearing him away from his own thoughts.

"What's wrong?"

She points ahead, towards her left at the upcoming blocks of buildings.

"When we get to 18th Avenue, turn left into the Donut Shop there – up ahead," she smiles. "I haven't thought about Donut World in . . . in a long, long time."

Richard Castle smiles, and obliges. The woman loves bear claws. Should it surprise him that – as a college student – she had a favorite donut hang-out here in the city?

"Oh no!" she exclaims, sadly. "It's changed."

Castle looks at the large vertical sign at the block ahead. It simply says "DONUTS" vertically, as it has for the past few months since he has been here.

"Do you still want me to stop?" he asks.

"Yes. Yes, please," she states quickly. "Perhaps they have just changed the sign. Although now that I think about it, she _would_ be pretty old by now," she continues.

"Who is _she_?" he asks her.

"Gosh, I don't remember her name. She was an elderly Czechoslovakian woman – this was years and years ago. All I had to do was walk in and she would immediately grab a couple of white-iced, cake donuts with sprinkles."

"Seriously, Beckett?" he laughs, with an incredulous look. Kate Beckett eating rainbow sprinkled donuts? Surely not.

"What, Castle – a young girl can't have her indulgences?"

"No, No, please – indulge away," he continues, laughing, as he parks the car in the small parking lot behind the donut shop.

"Stay here," he orders softly, as he gets out of the car and jogs around to her side, opening the door. He extends his hand and is rewarded with a different kind of smile. It's darker now outside, so he barely catches it.

"Such the gentleman," she offers.

"Always."

"I like it."

"Good. Get used to it."

"I think I will," she smiles, as they walk hand-in-hand into the shop. Sure enough, it isn't an older European woman, but a younger Asian-American woman who greets her with a smile. Castle is chuckling as they approach the glass enclosure filled with donuts, as he has already spotted the culprits of Kate's nostalgia.

"We'll take four of these cake sprinkled donuts," he tells the woman. "And two coffees, please."

"No problem, Mr. Castle," she says, bending to grab three donuts for the couple. He is a bit surprised that she addresses him by name, as he does not know the young lady. _"Perhaps she had read one of my books,"_ he thinks to himself.

"Do I know you, miss?" he asks.

"No, I'm sure you don't," she smiles. "I recognize you from the television reports about the women's shelter homes opening this month. You have no idea how many lives you are going to change. How many lives you might even save," she finishes.

"That's the plan – that's what we hope to do," he smiles himself. "We open tomorrow morning, in fact."

"You watch, Mr. Castle," she says. "You watch. Someone will be there tomorrow. First day. It won't take long. You watch."

Kate takes the exchange in silently, looking at Richard Castle with a new set of eyes for probably the first time in years – since he walked into the Precinct and overturned her life. It's the first time that she has seen anyone – anywhere – recognize Richard Castle in public as anything other than a famous author. The young woman isn't fawning over his good looks. She isn't flirting in the least. In fact, she seems almost oblivious to the rugged good looks that he is so proud of.

That he _was_ so proud of.

Has he changed _that_ much?

To this young, attractive woman, however, he isn't Richard Castle, famous author. She isn't the female groupie Kate Beckett is so used to seeing around Castle. To this woman, he is simply Richard Castle, philanthropist and benefactor – a wealthy man using his privilege to impact others not quite as fortunate. The exchange between the two stuns Kate into silence.

It is a silence that Castle notes, as they walk back to his car.

"Penny for your thoughts, Detective?" he asks.

She responds simply by leaning closer into him as they walk, still hand-in-hand. She murmurs something unintelligible that he can't recognize under her breath, as he opens the car door for her.

"Kate?"

She smiles up at him, and kisses his cheek, then slides into the car.

He watches her for a second, then blinks any concerns away, and goes to his side of the car, holding his cheek, opens the door, and slides in himself.

"And . . . we're off" he states, backing out of the parking lot, and heading towards Anza, where he will turn right, make another right to Geary and then continue westward towards dinner. As they turn back onto Geary Street, Kate smiles again.

"Cliff House?"

He returns her smile.

"Yes, it's become one of my favorite places," he responds. "As soon as I walked inside for the first time and saw the ocean through the windows, I was hooked. I decided this would be the first place I took you if you visited."

He pauses for a moment; a pause she notices. Then he continues the thought, almost under his breath.

"Which was an amazing thought all in itself."

"Why?" she asks.

"Because it was during my first week here on the West Coast. When I first thought of coming here, I was running away. I was here to move on. I was here to forget you. I was here to get away from you, to do something new in a new place. Yet as soon as I walked into the Cliff House, I was thinking of you – imagining you and I here."

Kate cannot help but notice that his grip on her hand, on her fingers, has changed. The pressure has lessened, as if he is pulling back. She glances down, and just as quickly, his grip returns, tenderly holding on to her. But she hasn't missed the quick, subtle change.

"I was so pissed at myself," he admits, with no hint of a smile on his lips. "I was supposed to be forgetting you, and I was doing a fairly unimpressive job of it. Quite pathetic," he finishes.

Kate tightens her grip on his hand, as they fly past 39th Avenue. She knows they are just minutes away from what should be a very romantic evening, and doesn't want to risk losing him before they even sit down to dinner.

"Castle . . . Rick," she says softly, and her use of his first name catches him yet again.

"Promise me you will hold that thought, Rick," she asks. "I have something to show you that I think will help you. I never want you to think that way about yourself again when it comes to us," she states. He chances a sideways glance at her as he drives down the stretch approaching the ocean ahead.

"I hope it's good," is all he can say.

"It is. Trust me. But let's get to the ocean first."

She strokes his hand with her thumb, and gives him a genuine smile, which he returns.

"Parking here is nuts."

"I remember. I can't imagine it has changed much," she adds.

"We have a reservation, but we will probably have to wait a few minutes."

"I remember that, too," she says. "We're in no rush, are we?"

"Absolutely not, detective."

A few minutes later they are walking towards the Cliff House after parking the car in one of the parking spots just below the restaurant toward the beach. It's about a one hundred yard walk, uphill towards the restaurant.

"We missed the sunset," he offers with a small pang of disappointment.

"We have two weeks of sunsets left. We'll catch a few."

"Who_ are _you?" he deadpans.

"Someone you will like," she smiles. "Someone you will like a lot."

"Confident, aren't you," he chuckles, and with that, they fall back into their old comfort zone. That's not where she wants to be, though, as he opens the large door and they walk into the restaurant.

Minutes later they are sitting on the second floor – the same level that they entered – at a window looking out over the Pacific Ocean. They can make out the rocks below, but can barely make out the sea in the darkness. They know it's there, though, massive and foreboding.

They both stare out the window and are quiet for a few moments, just soaking the night in. It's nice, and it's new and they both want to enjoy the moment. As another large wave crashes below them, Castle begins to tell her about the seals and seagulls that encamp on the rocks below. Kate smiles at the memory, and offers her own.

"You wouldn't have known it, but just down Highway 1, past the restaurant used to be a beachfront amusement park," she says. "It was gone when I got out here, but the locals used to go on and on about it. Now there are condos there."

"I wish I'd been here to see that," he offers.

"I'm glad I'm here, now. It's so good to see you, Rick."

"I'm glad you were able to get away."

"God knows I needed some time away."

"I'm sure," he nods.

"God also knows I needed to see you."

He smiles and squeezes here hand. They are quiet for another few minutes until the young woman at the check-in stand tells them their table is ready. She winks knowingly at Castle, but Kate misses the silent exchange. As they approach the table downstairs, she pauses as Castle stops at the table and pulls her chair out for her. She has stopped, however, frozen in place staring at the large arrangement of yellow roses and daisies on the table. Another dozen.

Before she can think of anything sweet or snappy to offer, her gaze catches the small black box sitting atop the table in front of her chair. It has a small black envelope attached. Castle guides her to the chair and she sits. As he walks to his chair at the table, she takes the envelope and opens it. There is a small white card inside, and she recognizes Castle's personal handwriting on it. The message is short and simple:

_Wear Me._

She smiles at his thoughtfulness. Little things, he probably thinks, but huge for her. The short strand of white pearls she now holds in her trembling hands are beautiful. She hasn't noticed that he has left his seat as quickly as he sat down, and now is standing behind her. He reaches over her shoulders, slowly, retrieving the necklace and placing it around her neck, fastening the clasp.

As he suspected when he first saw her approaching him at the airport, the white pearls indeed pop out against the black background of her sweater dress. They look perfect. She looks perfect.

"They are magnificent, Rick. I don't know what to say."

"You already said enough."

"Rick, I've said nothing."

"There is no need to," he states, and immediately chastises himself. He has – once again – let her off the hook. She will never open and just talk with him if he doesn't expect it, push for it, allow for it. Nothing new.

Thankfully, she doesn't take the "out" he has offered her, but instead plods forward.

"No, actually there is so much I need to say," she states, her gaze intent in his eyes now as he finds his way back to his chair. She waits until he sits, wanting his full attention. A few seconds later, he places his hands under his chin, his elbows on the table.

"They are magnificent. And so are you," she says, her hand stroking the pearls on her neck, never breaking eye contact with him.

He blushes in both surprise and embarrassment. These words – this honesty – they are a first from Kate Beckett to him. She begins to speak again, but the waitress chooses this moment to reach their table to take their drink order. He orders a red wine for them, and she leaves to fetch wine glasses. Kate is about to continue, but Castle interrupts her before she can begin again.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are, Kate?"

It's almost too much. For months now, she has been all but convinced that she had lost him forever. Just when she wakes up and smells what everyone around her has long known and recognized, he had left. She had thought that she – that they – had plenty of time. She'd thought he would always be there, waiting patiently, coffee in hand. It wasn't until after he had left that she allowed herself to admit exactly how much she had taken this man for granted.

Months ago, she began this hard, uphill journey to a second chance for them. But the words she hears tonight still ring too good to be true. They ring with a false sense of hope. As much as she loves his words, she feels she doesn't deserve them.

"Many times, Castle - in so many ways."

He gives her a quizzical look, and before he can comment, she continues.

"You told me with every single cup of coffee. Every time your hand touched my back. Every crazy theory you threw out. Every eye waggle you offered."

Her eyes are glistening now, and she almost loses it to realize that the glistening she sees are not just in her own eyes, but are matched by his own. She watches him fight for control of his emotions, and his failure to do so breaks her further.

For his part, he has long wondered whether or not she heard the many words he wanted to say in all of the various actions she has just voiced. With her words, his doubts are obliterated. He takes a quick drink of water from the small glass at the table as she continues.

"You told me for four years, Rick," and a tear escapes, running down her cheek.

"Four years," he agrees, nodding his head. "Four years I'd been right here." Tears race down his cheeks. He doesn't even attempt to hide or stop them.

"Four years just waiting for you to just open your eyes to see that I was right here."

"I know, Rick," she softly says, dropping her gaze and her head, only to be pulled back into his eyes as he continues. It's a moment long, long overdue for them both.

"Four years just waiting for you to see that I was more than a partner," he says, voice trembling, as she grabs his hands across the table, wanting to interrupt, wanting to say anything to stop the flood gates but knowing that these waters have been withheld far too long.

"Every morning, a cup of coffee just so I could see a smile on your face, because I thought you were most remarkable, maddening, challenging, frustrating and ultimately beautiful person I'd ever met."

For a split second, her eyes widen as she recognizes his usage of the past tense.

"And you still are," he finishes.

They sit here, at the table, holding hands across the tablecloth in silence – the only sound the occasional sniffle. Fortunately their waitress has wisely decided to keep herself scare and allow the couple their privacy. Kate, for her part, is sinking fast. She has just listened to Castle open himself up as he never has done before with her. He's just so damn good with words, and she's just . . . not. She knows he deserves – _he needs_ – words from her at this point.

But the words she knows he needs to hear escape her. Her heart clamps down and for a moment she begins to despair.

And then, in a moment of triumph, she remembers.

Taking her fingers away from his, she turns and reaches for her purse which hangs on her chair. She doesn't chance another look at his face – not yet. She unzips the purse, and fumbles quickly to retrieve her tablet. She punches a few buttons to pull up what she is looking for, and hands the tablet to her confused dinner partner, who has no clue why she would possibly pull a tablet out at this particular moment.

"Select October 2nd, Rick." It's all she can manage at this time.

He takes the tablet, and sees rows and rows of icons – each with a date. He searches for the icon with the date of October 2nd, and finding it, punches it up. He begins to read, and visibly slumps back into his chair with just the first few words, as realization begins to sink in as to what he is reading . . . and what the myriad of other countless icons with dates he saw actually are.

_Rick,_

_I just woke up a few minutes ago, and made myself a cup of coffee. In a few minutes I will jump in the shower and go have breakfast with dad – as I try to do every Sunday morning – now that you are gone._

_The coffee was delicious. It tastes like I always imagined your lips would, in the morning, after bringing me my cup. Like you always used to do. Did you know that so often, when I closed my eyes sipping my coffee that you would bring, I was kissing you? I don't know if that sounds romantic or cowardly. Probably both._

_I hope you know that I heard every word you said with every cup of coffee. Some cups told me I was loved. Others told me I was beautiful. Yet others reminded me that I would be okay. I know that every cup was a declaration. And I know that my silence at your words was so unfair. It had to drive you crazy. I know that my silence drove you away. I'm so sorry Rick._

_I am writing these words in my journal today – but I promise you, Rick – one day you will hear these words from my lips. One day you will see and hear me speak these words to you. Because I heard every word you said, with every cup of coffee. And each and every one of those words remains in my heart. They are with me this morning, giving me a hope where there is no hope. They give me strength where there is no strength. And they fill my empty heart with a love I know I don't deserve._

His hands are shaking as he finishes the final sentence. He places the tablet on the table, and covers his face with both hands for a few seconds, searching for some level of composure. Taking a deep breath, he finds her eyes, soft and precious.

"I thought _I_ was the writer."

"I thought I had lost you," is all she says.

Their waitress chooses this moment to step to the table with their bottle of wine, and glasses. She quickly takes their order, realizing that the less she is seen, the better their dinner – and probably her tip. As she leaves the table with their order, Kate stands and takes the seat next to Castle on the four-top table. She leans into him, and his chin immediately drops to light on the top of her heard. He nuzzles her hair with his nose, breathing her in.

She recognizes what he is doing – and she leans in further, wanting him to have as much of her as possible. And there is so much more to say to him this evening. She picks up the tablet, taps the screen, and hands it back to him.

"October 14th, Rick."

**AN:** First, I do apologize for how slowly these chapters are coming. So much is going on in my life right now, and I just haven't had the time to do justice to this story, so the chapters have been coming as I have the time. I also apologize for how slowly this first evening for these two is unfolding, but honestly, do these two ever do anything the normal, traditional way? In this AU, Kate is now in San Francisco with him for two weeks. In these two weeks, they are either going to establish something special, or they aren't. But they both know that this is their opportunity – perhaps their final opportunity. So there is no reason to rush things.

That said, after four years of this dance, there is an awful lot that they need to say to each other.


	11. Chapter 11

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 11**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Still Dec 18, 2011, San Francisco, California – at the Cliff House**_

Richard Castle finishes reading and puts the tablet down on the table, and leans back into his chair. Kate has been in the women's restroom for the past couple of minutes. As she left the table, she had asked him to read her journal entry for November 17th. It's the fourth entry he has read this evening here at the restaurant and the first entry since they completed the main course. He will wait until she returns to find out what she would like for dessert.

Tonight has been nothing like Castle expected. It's funny – during their separation they both have kept journals of a sort. Hers' is a literal journal – a diary - that articulates her thoughts on any number of days. It looks like she has made an entry every day since September 29th. She chose this media to capture her thoughts. She has told him – after he read the second entry - that she never really expected him to read these private thoughts. Her goal was to get to a point where she could verbalize these thoughts, face-to-face. His heartfelt admission earlier at the dinner table changed all of that.

His 'journal', of course, is actually a series of short stories. He has yet to share this with her. Perhaps he will later tonight, perhaps another day while she is here. But she has opened up to him tonight and he can do no less for her. He smiles at the irony that both have chosen the written word as their primary outlet during their separation.

The interesting thing is that his short stories are just his imaginings of how dates with Kate would have gone. And the first story he had written down was a night at the Cliff House. So far, this evening has gone nothing like he had imagined in his story. Not even in those wildest dreams of his did he imagine Kate opening up to him this much.

She keeps a journal of her thoughts about him? Preposterous.

She _shares_ this journal with him? Ridiculous. Never happen.

Yet this is exactly what has happened. For his part, he didn't see his outburst of admission coming either. So yeah, so far tonight has been far from the romantic evening with soft kisses and idle touches he wrote about. Instead, it has been much, much better. He likes this Kate Beckett. More, he likes how he and this Kate Beckett are interacting. No innuendo, no foolish secrets. Just open sharing with each other.

It's far from what he had hoped for, and more than he could have dreamed.

November 17th had been her birthday, and had things worked out, that would have been her first trip out here, instead of tonight. Her thoughts, captured in her journal that evening, were raw and intense, to the point that he almost felt embarrassed reading them. He felt as if it was an invasion of her privacy to have access to such inner thoughts – but she was the one who had opened the door for him to read these writings.

He sees her approaching the table, and she looks radiant. Clearly she's taken the opportunity to freshen up yet again. Once more, he is struck by her simple elegance. She makes it look so easy. She always has.

He stands and pulls her chair out for her again, and she offers him a simple smile that will stay with him the rest of the evening.

"I'm so sorry I missed your birthday, Kate."

She sees the sadness in his eyes, and knows he has finished reading her entry for that evening. That had been a tough night for her. So much anticipation for that evening had come crashing down on her, and her words – her loss – have pierced him completely. The sheer pain that she has managed to pour into her words have staggered him, and as a writer himself, that says a lot.

"It wasn't your fault, Rick."

"I should have been there. I could have jumped on a plane."

"There is so much we could have, and perhaps should have done, Rick. I don't care anymore. All I care about is tonight . . . and tomorrow. And the days we have after that."

"Agreed. We're very fortunate, you know, Beckett."

"Yeah, I know," she agrees, still smiling softly. They are almost – almost – out of energy. The night, although still young, has been both emotionally healing and draining at the same time.

"I wonder if we deserve this second chance we are getting," she asks out loud.

"Deserved or not, I'm taking it," he replies quickly, reaching out to hold her hand, as he has this entire evening. "We're still not out of the woods yet, so no, I don't care if it is deserved or not."

"What are you nervous about?" she asks. She agrees they have a way to go, but is a bit surprised to hear him voice that concern, given the progress they have made this evening.

"Everything, Kate," he honestly gives her. "Absolutely everything."

He sees the confusion in her eyes, and quickly continues.

"We have saved each other's lives countless times, Kate. But we have no foundation for what we are trying to do right now. We're not very good at this. We never have been. We've avoided it, we've danced around it, we've played it off. But we have never embraced this. Until tonight."

She nods in agreement, her fingers playing a tune across the top of his hand. She instinctively bits down on her lower lip, searching for the words to offer him at this time – and again coming up empty. Fortunately, he has more to say on the subject, and continues on.

"Tonight, for the first time, we've kind of just jumped in. I like it. I like this a lot. But I'd be lying to you if I told you I'm not worried," he states, eyes staring out the window at the dark Pacific beyond them.

"I'm almost waiting for something to wake me up from a great dream," he finishes.

"Not a dream, Rick. And you're right. We've never been good at this. But tonight is the first night that we have both been on the same page, looking for the same outcome. And tonight is good. Tonight is damn good, if you ask me."

"Can't argue with you there, detective. This has been a great night. So, are you up for dessert?"

"What did you have in mind, Mr. Castle?"

They both chuckle at how easy this is coming tonight. No, they've never been good at this aspect of a relationship, but things really are flowing smoothly. They've opened up to one another, and they've challenged each other. Yet here they sit, still hand-in-hand, contemplating their next step.

"Well, we can grab dessert here, or take the donuts that we bought back to my place. I really want you to see it."

"Then let's head out. I want to see your place, and I want to see the homes you have built."

He smiles, thinking of the homes, The Castles as they are being called. Tomorrow is the big day- professionally - as tonight as been the big night, personally. So much is happening – so much is going on. Sometimes he feels like he is in total control and sometimes he feels as if he has no control over his life at all right now. Surprisingly, it is a feeling he has somehow grown comfortable with. It seems that almost anything was better than the horrific status quo that his life had fallen into in New York.

He pays the bill, and they walk slowly out of the restaurant and start down the hill back to the car, when Kate pulls him to the stone ledge, overlooking the dark beach area leading to the ocean. She turns her back to him, and holds on to the ledge, facing the water. As he places his arms around her, she leans back into him. Her coat is around her shoulders, as the San Francisco wind has picked up just enough. It's cold enough here in the summer, much less a week before Christmas. His face chills quickly, and he knows that she has to be freezing also – but somehow this moment, looking out at the dark waters, has become theirs.

"It's cold Kate – let me get you to the car."

"In a minute, Rick. Just give me a minute here."

He wraps her tighter, her hair in his nostrils, her body tight against him. There are far too many layers of clothes and coats for either of them to actually feel anything, and yet he finds himself totally aroused and into her in this moment.

"All those years ago, we would leave the campus and come out here. We wanted to see the city, and we wanted to see the beach," she reminisces, the cold wind bringing a different type of tears to her eyes. She ignores them both, pressing on.

"We would camp out on this beach. It was cold, and we didn't care. We'd bring our red blankets out and throw a makeshift tent together after having sandwiches and drinks back at the bar up there at the Cliff House."

His mind travels back, trying to imagine a young college Kate, carefree, living the college dream at Stanford, a short drive from the city. The world literally your oyster, indeed.

"And I would stand right about here, Castle, right around where we are now. And I would imagine myself here again, not partying with my friends, but cuddling, eating, standing, huddling with a man that I would fall in love with. This would be our spot. I would bring him back here."

He squeezes his eyes tighter, listening to yet another intimate admission from a woman who just months ago was a closed book to him in so many of the most important areas. He hears her words, he hears the surf pounding in the distance and smells the breeze.

"After I moved back east, I never thought that moment would be possible. I often thought about it, but never imagined I would be here again, with that man – and never dreamed that man could be you."

"Kate, I-"

"Take me home, Rick."

He needs no further instructions.

They are seated in the car a minute later, and are off and running back down Geary towards the Golden Gate exits that will take them across the bridge to his place.

Home, as she called it. They are quiet for the next few minutes, speeding down the road. He has rewound and replayed the evening again and again in these few minutes. She is relishing the memory of being wrapped in his arms along the beach – her collegiate vision finally realized after all these years.

"Kate, can I say something?" he finally asks her, as they make the left turn on to the highway leading to the Golden Gate Bridge.

"Of course."

"You know, we have been so open with each other tonight, we have shared so much – things that I can't believe we have shared – I'm thrilled, don't get me wrong –"

"What's on your mind, Rick," she smiles, as he guns the car further towards the red bridge and yellow lights.

"I . . ."

"Wow, now you have me worried," she states, now a bit more upright in the seat and facing him.

"I just . . . I just have enjoyed tonight so much. I have enjoyed you so much. I just want us to . . . I don't know –"

"Rick, trust me. We are going to take this slow. We have two weeks, and we have as much time as we want after that. I don't want to rush into anything either."

"Wait . . . wait – I'm not talking about us, Kate. I want this. I really do. I –"

"I know what you are talking about, Rick. I'm there with you. I want to see this unfold slowly also. Rushing into bed with you – as much as I absolutely want to be there – that's not why I am here. And I know it's not why you are here either."

"Oh, I want you in my bed, Kate," he laughs. "Make no mistake about that. But just having you here with me is enough for me right now. It's more than I hoped for, and probably all that I can handle right now."

"You know, I think I'm a bit offended at how easy you evidently think I am, Mr, Cas-"

"No! No, No! Damn," he says leaning his head back against the headrest, driving further. "That's not what –"

"Rick," she laughs, a hearty laugh that snaps him back. He stares at her and then readjusts this focus on the road and the coming entry gate to the bridge.

"Beckett – you know you will pay for this –"

"Yeah, promises, promises. Two weeks, Mr. Castle – you have two weeks to –"

The military ping on his phone startles both of them.

"Geesh, who do you have programmed there – the President?" she chuckles, but wondering none-the-less.

"No – that's just Mike. Ex-Marine, leads my security team for –"

"I remember Mike," she reminds him. "From your building back in New York."

"Yeah, that's him. Can you open it and see what he wants?" he asks her. I don't want to drive us off the bridge reading a text on your first night here." They both chuckle as she opens the text message on his phone.

"Mmmm," is all she offers.

"What is it?"

"He says, _Just in from SFPD. Urgent complaint. Asking if we can accept tonight_."

"A client?" he asks out loud. They know his complex doesn't open until tomorrow. "I know we have our skeleton staff there tonight as a final prep. Ask him if it can wait until tomorrow."

As she starts typing his request, he stops her, as his mind is now racing.

"Scratch that, Kate. SFPD knows our open date and they are still asking. It must be serious. Ask him how soon he can get there."

She types the message, as requested, and oddly finds her competitive juices flowing. She finds herself not only fascinated by Castle's new world, but uncomfortable sitting outside it. She should be a part of this. This is a police matter, after all. A woman – probably abused – is seeking help. Seeking shelter.

Mike's text response interrupts her thoughts, and she reads it aloud for Castle as it comes in.

_Lindy and I are already here. Decided to come spend the night with the skeleton crew earlier. Calling Dawn and Colin if you give the green light._

"Type this, please. _Call the car service, find out_ – Oh never mind," he corrects himself, and punches voice activation on the car.

"Call Mike Monroe" he states, officiously. The Bluetooth connected voice speaks back to him.

_Calling Mike Monroe._

She glances at Castle, whose mind is now far, far away from the discussions of the evening. It is like a switch has been flipped. In one minute, the playful, flirting, thoughtful Rick Castle she had – unknowingly – fallen head over heels for all those months ago – had disappeared. In his place was a much more serious, focused man on a mission. Something had happened with his eyes, and how his jawline set itself, how his shoulders seemed to straighten even more, if possible.

A few rings and she hears Mike answer his phone.

"Hey Rick – thanks for calling."

"No problem, Mike. What's the story?"

"Not sure yet of all the details, but we have a female and two small children that have left their home tonight. I understand there were some injuries that they have taken care of at one of the local hospitals, but she is at the station now. They wanted to know if they can send her to us tonight."

"Go ahead – we have a crew there, and we can get her admitted and get her a good night's rest. Does she have transportation?"

"Don't know. I will find out. If not, I will call the car service and get her out here."

"Ok, I'm on my way. Kate and I are already on the bridge."

"Oh, hey Kate. Glad you could make it out here this time."

She doesn't miss the "this time", which tells her that Castle has probably shared quite a bit of their story with his team here. Or at a minimum, at least with Mike.

"Me too, Mike. I'm anxious to see the operation, too."

"Well, tonight's as good a night as any," he says.

"Give us 20 minutes to get there," Castle tells him.

"Hey, slow down, Speed Racer!" Mike laughs.

"That's Racer X to you, bud," Castle joins in, in laughter as he disconnects the call. Just that quickly, his eyes reset, and that familiar playful glint makes its way back, but she sees there is still something there in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Kate –"

"Rick, the last thing you need to do is apologize to me for doing your job," she laughs. He gets the irony of their reversed rolls, and chuckles with her.

"Two weeks, Beckett."

"I'm holding you to that, Mr. Castle."

She grabs his hand, and their fingers interlock yet again, this evening. He feels different, though now. She can tell that their evening is over, and she holds no grudge for that. This is why he came out here.

Okay, this is only part of why he came out here. They are working on the other part. Tonight has been a good start. But she can tell his mind is elsewhere now – as it should be.

"Rick, pull over."

"What?"

"Pull over – next chance you can."

A few hundred yards later, the car is stopped along the shoulder, and Kate gets out of the car and walks to the driver's side.

"You're distracted. And I want to drive your shiny car," she smiles.

"Really-"

"Out!" she orders, and he finds himself complying meekly. "Seriously, Rick – I can see your mind is racing now, so take a breather and get your thoughts together. Just tell me how to get there."

He extracts his large frame from the small car, and walks to the passenger side and slides in. Brushing both hands through his hair, he shakes his head to clear himself.

"Thanks, Kate," he finally offers.

"No problem."

She puts the car in gear and rejoins traffic along 101, just across the bridge. Castle plugs in directions in the navigation system, and leans his head back again.

"I realize I don't have a name for this," he states.

"A name for what?" she wonders aloud.

"When you get a victim at the 12th, you would call me and tell me you had a body drop. You used to text me and tell me "got a body", or something along those lines. I don't know what to call this. We don't deal with dead people."

"At least that's the plan," she reminds him.

"Yeah . . ."

"Castle?"

"Yeah ?"

"You'll figure out a name," she smiles, shaking her head. He smiles along with her, and for a brief second allows a thought to enter his mind, but quickly brushes it away.

"_Don't go there, idiot,"_ he thinks to himself.

_**Twenty Minutes Later**_

The black Ferrari pulls into the complex, and Kate is simply stunned into silence. It is massive, and it is beautiful. It's dark, but she can easily make out the natural line of trees that shroud the place. She sees buildings in the distance, past the security gate she has just pulled up to. She begins to get a sense of exactly how much money has been poured into this project. She idly wonders how much of it has been his personal money.

The security guard sees that it is Rick in the passenger seat, and waves them forward.

"You have to stop right there at the keypad, and enter in the security code, and then slide the card key," Rick tells her.

"Ok," she says as she slowly pulls past the gate to the security keypad just a few yards ahead. "What's the security code?"

He pauses for a second, and gives her the code along with the card key, which she takes from his hand.

"The code is 41319."

She types the first two numbers into the keypad, then stops – her eyes growing larger – and he forces himself to look away.

He hears her complete the entry with the final three digits, and hears her slide the card key. A second later, the electronic gate opens and grants them access. She slowly drives along the winding road to the administration building, which easily stands out differently from the quaint homes she makes out in the darkness ahead.

He risks a glance at her as she drives, and he sees the wet tear that has stained her right cheek, bubbling along her chin.

He decides – quickly – that this is a topic for a later discussion. Inside an hour, his first client will be arriving. With children. An evening earlier than anticipated. It's time to focus.

They are ready – he knows this, but he is nervous nonetheless. He's got a good team, a good crew, and everything is ready.

"Stop and park right here, Kate," he says softly as they approach the admin building. She slows and parks, and he quickly jumps out and comes around to her side.

"Rick, go ahead, I know you are –"

"Nonsense," he states flatly, extending his hand to her to help her out of the car.

"Please, go ahead – just . . . please, give me a minute."

He offers her a sad, knowing smile, and bends to kiss her hand before releasing it and turning to walk inside. As he leaves, she places both hands on the steering wheel, and her forehead against the wheel between her hands. Another tear escapes down her cheek as she lifts her head, surveying the buildings in the distance behind the admin building. They are hidden in trees, with soft lights providing access in the darkness ahead. They are quaint – each building a two story complex.

It looks far more like a resort than anything she had imagined. Of course it would. Leave it to Rick to design something so cheerful, so homey for the clients he would house.

She drops her gaze from the homes in the background, to the card key still in her hand, as her mind begins to fully grasp the significance of her NYPD badge ID being the security code for the complex.

"You never let go," she sighs softly, dropping her head to the steering wheel yet again.

"You never let go," and her tears begin to flow again.


	12. Chapter 12

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 12**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Still Dec 18, 2011, 11pm, at The Castles, Safe Complex**_

Marissa Honeycutt sits in the chair across the desk from Gail Simmons, the onsite admissions nurse for the Castles complex. Nurse Simmons is documenting Marissa's condition as a part of the admissions process. No pictures are taken – Marissa's been through enough of that at the police station and the hospital, thank you very much. So Gail has to be very thorough, yet be fairly quick about it. First impressions – from the client perspective - are important, and the procedures for the complex call for the admissions process to be expedited as quickly as possible. The sooner Marissa is in her new, temporary home, the better.

And Marissa has brought company with her.

Sean is five years old, and his younger sister – Miranda – is only three years old. As Castle watches through the one-way glass, he and Mike both notice that Miranda seems ok. She _seems_ ok. That is something that Dr. Peraza and her team will ultimately unlock in the days and weeks ahead. But looking at young Sean, it is clear that those young, five-year-old eyes have seen something no child should see.

Castle chances a glance at his friend – and partner – Mike Monroe. He knows Mike's past, he knows Mike's history. And sure enough, he sees it in Mike's eyes right now. Mike knows where exactly Sean is right now. Mike has been Sean.

Castle also notices Mike's breathing has changed, and recognizes that Mike is using breathing exercises to calm himself. His hands are flexing – open, then closed, open, then closed.

"Mike –"

"I'm good, Rick," he states, ending any discussion before it can begin. "Remember, no sudden movements, especially around the boy. Let's roll."

The two men walk out of the room behind the glass viewing area, into a hallway that leads to the admissions room where Gail and Lindy are processing Marissa and her children. Lindy is holding hands with Miranda, keeping her busy with a simple patty-cake game. Sean, however, is seated right next to his mother, and he is not leaving her side.

The door opens, and Castle and Mike walk in to introduce themselves. Both men stay their distance.

"Mrs. Honeycutt, I am Mike Monroe, chief of security for the Castles Complex. This is Mr. Richard Castle, the founder of the complex."

Marissa glances at the two men, and simply nods her head in confirmation, then looks back toward Gail.

"Marissa," Mike says softly, still not moving towards her. She glances up at him again.

"You are safe, here, Marissa," he tells her. Gail reaches across the desk to touch Marissa's free hand with her own, which Marissa immediately grabs.

"You are _safe_, here, Marissa," she repeats to the young woman.

Castle steps forward toward the desk, and Sean immediately pulls back into his mother, causing him to pause. He glances at Mike, who has warned him about this very reaction. Still, warning aside, the reaction takes him aback. His pursed lips let go of a small sigh, as he ponders exactly what this young boy has witnessed, and then takes in the sight of Marissa yet again.

She is – according to the paperwork, 29 years old, and likely a beautiful young woman, but it is difficult to see that tonight. There is bruising on her left cheek under her right eye – and additional reddish purple bruising above her left eye is barely visible through the gauze above her that eye. Six stitches – according to the paperwork sent with Marissa – are under that gauze. There are bruises along both shoulders, and on her right thigh.

The natural excitement with opening the complex that was tangible in the admissions area only a half hour earlier is gone completely. In its place is a quiet rage that is burning inside the entire staff – including the complex founder, and his daughter who remains behind the one-way glass with Kate Beckett. Kate sits next to her, with a stone-chiseled grimace etched into her normally soft face.

For her part, Alexis has heard about abuse, and seen – second-hand – what abuse looks like. But the reality of being here – of seeing Marissa – this reality is too much, too soon. Castle, of course, recognizes this right away, and has ordered his daughter to stay behind the glass. He wants her to see this. He needs for her to see this. She has been a part of this entire vision, and this ultimately – eventually – will be hers. He doesn't want her education, her knowledge to be purely academic in this area. But he knows he will need to ease her into this, as well.

She needs to feel this. It can't be an arms-distance experience for her. It needs to set deep inside her, in a place where her fire will never be extinguished, if she is going to take this someday. This might not be how he wanted to introduce her to this, but realistically, was there any other way?

"_Nope, this is what it is – what it's all about,"_ he mentally reminds himself, thinking about Alexis as he watches Marissa.

Tomorrow, the real work begins. Castle, Mike, Lindy, Gail – the entire staff knows this. Tomorrow it begins in earnest for Marissa and her children. But tonight – tonight is all about attempting to – even briefly – reestablish a sense of normalcy for them. No questions, no probing, no discussions.

Tonight, it is simply about making sure all the i's are dotted and t's are crossed, and then getting this family to their new home as quickly as possible.

A young man walks in through the front door, and remains standing at the door.

"4A is ready to go," he says. "I'll be outside."

He returns outside to the modified, 6-seater golf cart. It is one of 5 carts on the property that will transport clients around the property as needed. Castle immediately begins asking himself if 5 will be enough.

A few minutes later, Marissa and her son and daughter are seated in the second row, behind the young driver and Lindy, who will accompany them to their unit. He puts the cart into gear, and the electric hum is the only sound heard, save the noise of insects from the trees surrounding them. It's peaceful and beautiful in the darkness outside leading to their unit.

Two hundred or so yards later, they come to a stop at Unit 4 and climb out of the cart.

Each of the Units – or buildings – is the same. Two bottom floor 'homes', side-by-side, separated by an outdoor hallway leading to an elevator. The elevator takes you to the two upper floor 'homes'. These two are separated by an outdoor hallway for access, and the elevator. All four 'homes' are two bedroom units.

As she enters 4A, Marissa quickly takes note of her new surroundings. It is far, far from what she anticipated.

The entry area is tiled, and opens to a small living area. The living area is not large, maybe 12 by 12, with a couch facing a 46-inch television, and a small bean bag for a chair. The living area leads into a smaller dining area that has a circular table with four chairs. This leads into a small kitchen area, complete with a range stove with 4 burners, an oven, a microwave and a fridge. The entry way is tiled, and the living area is carpeted with a surprisingly plush carpet. Tile takes over in the dining and kitchen area. The walls are a cream dark brown color. It's a very old-world look, from the walls to the light fixtures to the flooring.

She shakes her head slightly. It is absolutely beautiful in here.

She walks back past the kitchen which opens into a hallway with two bedrooms on either side. The first bedroom to the left is obviously hers. It's a decent size, roughly 14 by 14. It has a queen size bed, a night stand on one side, and a dresser. A television is mounted on the wall. There is a small walk-in closet, maybe 3 by 5. Big enough.

What catches her eye, though, is the 5 foot long lighted aquarium that sits against the wall – bathing the room in bright but soft colors. This – it turns out – is one of Alexis' touches for each of the master bedrooms for the women. Something that may provide a calming influence. Maybe.

The other bedroom is connected via arches from the hallway. The motif of a castle theme is strong throughout the unit. The second bedroom is the same size, with the exception of two twin bunk beds instead of a queen bed. There are no doors into the bedrooms. The assumption is the mother is going to want easy, two-way access. In fact, the only doors in the entire unit are the front door entering the home, and the two doors for the bathrooms.

The entire unit is less than 900 square feet. Small and quaint, they are designed to portray a soft, safe place. At least that's the theory. That's the goal. They will all find out soon enough.

Marissa walks Sean and Miranda to their rooms, and is pleased to see Sean immediately select a bed, on the lower level and crawl into his space. He places his shoes on the floor at the head of the bed. Lindy notices the boy has no socks.

"_Probably just grabbed her kids and ran,"_ Lindy thinks angrily to herself.

"Goodnight, Sean" Marissa says, kissing her little boy on his forehead.

"Goodnight, Mommy," the little boy states, offering the first hint – only a hint – of a smile.

"Goodnight, Miranda." She says, kissing the little girl as well. "Mommy will be right back after she says goodbye to the nice people here."

She turns the light out in the small bedroom, which immediately turns on two small night lights on either side of the room. The night lights are small castles, of course.

Walking back to the front living area, she sees Richard Castle standing at the front door, hands in his pockets. Lindy and Mike are giving a final walk-though of the place to make sure that the fridge and cabinets have the initial stock, as necessary. It's a double check, of course, since food, towels, and a small supply of one-size fits all clothing is a part of the initial set-up for each home. It's busy work for them, while they make sure that Marissa settles in comfortably.

"The food barn is right down the road, just past the admissions area. And yes, it literally looks like a barn. There is playground just past there also," Lindy tells her with a smile. "You can walk, or arrange a ride with one of the carts. There are two video phones in your unit. One right here," she states, pointing to the unit in the living room, "and one in your bedroom. These connect you to any other phone on the complex."

"Outside calls?" Marissa asks inquiringly.

"Use your mobile phone for any calls off complex." Marissa nods her head in understanding.

"We will come by for full orientation to get you fully acclimated in the morning," adds Mike. "For now, please, just relax and settle in."

She looks around, and a small but grateful smile appears on her lips. She looks directly at Castle for a moment.

"Thank you. It's lovely." He simply nods his head in confirmation.

"Welcome home, Marissa," Castle tells her, and quietly leaves the home, followed by Mike and Lindy.

_**Thirty Minutes Later, at Castle's Residence in Sausalito, California**_

Castle pulls into the driveway of his Sausalito home. Kate and Alexis had left some twenty minutes earlier, via the car service, as Castle and his team were getting Marissa Honeycutt settled into her new home. What started as a bright day and a wonderful night of sharing and discovery with Beckett has quickly evolved into a very different reality. Castle always knew why he was doing this. He knew this type of abuse was out there. But seeing it, first-hand, with the new pressure of doing something about it? For not the first time, he wonders if he has bitten off way more than he can chew. Except this time, the wondering is far more intense.

He is calmed by the knowledge that he has an passionate, educated, experienced team that is driving the operational side of things here. It's his vision, his money, and a good team to execute the vision. They'll be able to do this.

He walks through the front door and finds Alexis sitting on the stairs, in her pajamas ready for bed. No one is exactly hungry or ready to sit down and watch television or play games right now. Alexis is on holiday break, so there is no need to go to bed early tonight, yet go-to-bed-early is exactly what he senses is on the agenda for all of them.

He idly wonders how the conversation between his daughter and Kate has gone this evening. They were together behind the glass, and the car service brought them home together. That's quite a bit of time to themselves, and he doesn't kid himself – Alexis is very wary of Kate Beckett.

Sure, Kate was 'all-in' back at the bank robbery a couple of months ago, and he has purposefully included Alexis in a couple of the video conferences with Kate since then. For her part, Alexis has just seen too much of a different kind of abuse placed upon her father – from her mother, to Gina, and especially with Kate Beckett. And while Kate may _seem_ different, Alexis' memories are still stronger than what she sees from this 'new Kate'.

"_I'll find out soon enough,"_ he thinks to himself. For now, he can't shake the mental image of a scarred Marissa – bruised and bandaged - or the image of young Sean pulling away from him.

"Hello pumpkin," he offers her, sitting next to her on the stairs.

She says nothing. She simply leans into him, allowing him to pull her under his shoulder, before her tears begin to fall again.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," he says to her, softly massaging her shoulder with the hand around her, his chin resting on her head. Red strands of hair hang down, shrouding her face. Once again, he wonders to himself if this is not too much, too soon for his high school daughter. He shakes those thoughts away as he sees – again – Sean's little face in front of him.

"_That, there, is too much, too soon,"_ he reminds himself.

"Detective Beckett says that she has actually seen worse," Alexis manages between sniffles.

"I'm sure she has."

"Dad, why would a man do this? Why hurt someone like this? Why wouldn't he just leave, like Mom left, like Gina left?"

"I don't know, pumpkin. I'm afraid I don't have all the answers for this," he admits. He hears the toilet flush, and watches Kate come out of the guest bathroom downstairs, and approach the two on the stairs.

"Here is what I do know, though, Alexis," he says, pulling her closer while Kate sits on the bottom step below them. "At some point, there are going to be up to one hundred Marissa's staying here, living here. We will do what we are good at doing."

"Making people feel at home, feel welcome," she finishes for him.

"You got that right."

She pulls back to kiss his cheek, and stands.

"Well, this is enough for one night, thank you very much," she says. She reaches down to Kate, who stands and offers her a hug.

"Thank you, Detective Beckett."

"No problem at all, Alexis. Try to have a good night's sleep."

For a moment, she considers offering her first name to Castle's daughter again, but decides against it. _"She will come around soon enough. Until then, at least she is talking to me,"_ she thinks to herself.

She waits until Alexis is upstairs and out of sight, before turning her own sights back on Castle. She offers him her hand, as he stands up, and pulls him off the stairs into the hallway below.

"Let's go to bed, Rick," she says softly, reaching back for his hand. He places his hand in hers, and feels her fingers lock around his own.

He glances up the stairs, where he knows his bedroom is, and then his gaze takes him around the corner downstairs where the guest room is located. He is caught for a moment, not knowing which direction to lead her. Then he realizes – for the first time – that she has changed clothes. So she has evidently unpacked her clothes and parked her suitcase in her room. Of course that's it – Alexis was here and certainly would have shown her where her room is.

Unless she placed Kate in the 3rd bedroom upstairs, next to Alexis and down the hall from Rick's bedroom. That would make sense, too, since Jordan is coming in the next day or so as well.

The look on his face is just too priceless, and Kate lets him off the hook with a chuckle, as she starts walking up the stairs. He follows her, hand in hers, as the climb to the landing at the top of the stairs.

"Alexis showed me my room up here. I put my bags there, already," she states matter-of-factly, glancing down the hallway at her room. Then, without warning, she turns toward the right and starts walking toward Rick's bedroom.

"Uh . . . Kate, this is the wrong way –", he offers meekly.

She doesn't turn around, but continues walking.

"Is it?" is all she says.

She stops at his door. It's his room, and even though she had long made up her mind tonight where she would like to place her head – it is ultimately his call. She stands at the door, and turns to face him, as he steps next to her. The door is open, but she waits for the invitation.

"I didn't expect you to . . . that is, I don't want you to think we –"

"I'm tired, Rick. Are you tired?"

"I'm beat," he admits, but his brain, heart and body are all on different wavelengths by now, and it is unclear which is winning the battle.

"Then let's get some sleep," she smiles. "We have –"

"Two weeks," they say in unison, and then laugh lightly with each other at the uncommon connection they obviously still share. He extends a hand forward, inviting her to enter ahead of him, which she does.

She immediately notices the dark wood floor throughout the room, and what she can only describe as the plushest carpet she has seen under and around the large king-size bed. Downstairs, the look is light and modern, with glass windows surrounding the house giving Castle and his family and guest fantastic views of the ocean, bay, the bridge and mountains behind them. The décor upstairs in the guest room is the same, as she noted when she unpacked and changed clothes.

His bedroom, however, is stark in its difference. The light walls of downstairs are replaced with a cream dark brown color scheme – similar to the color scheme he chose for the safe house units that she has yet to see.

Castle stands at the door entrance, allowing Kate to take in her surroundings. She walks toward the bed, touching the large post at the foot of his side of the bed. Her back is to him, but he can swear she is smiling as she runs her hand along the post. He takes a quick gulp, and blinks away a few thoughts. She continues toward the other side of the bed, her hand brushing along the heavy, plush comforter. She looks back at him, and indeed is smiling now. Then she lifts her eyes to the wall facing his side of the bed, and takes a startled step backward. Now it's his turn to smile.

"Seriously, Castle?" she says, catching her breath at the floor to ceiling black and white photograph of a large elephant, ears out with large tusks.

"Helps me remember there is often an elephant in the room that needs to be addressed," he states softly.

"Touché," she agrees, still smiling.

He walks toward the closet to hang up his coat. She takes in – for one last time tonight – the soft blue shirt he has worn to their date. He knows she loves blue on him, and idly hopes that she doesn't discover the myriad of blue shades adorning his closet on hangers.

"I'm too tired to shower. Do you mind if I wait until morning?" he hears her asks from the bedroom.

"Not at all – saves me the chore of coming up with an excuse why I am not showering either," he says with a slight smile from the closet. He's trying to make small talk. The intimacy, the closeness of earlier tonight hasn't vanished completely, but it had fled to the corners after their visit to the Castles. For Rick, this is worse than the dead bodies he would be pulled into back east. This was far more personal, somehow.

For a moment, he gets a flash of understanding of what Kate Beckett carries with her, every day. Someone did this to her mother. Someone hurt her mother until she was dead. Not in the same way. But with the same intent.

He changes into dark blue boxer pajamas with a white loose-fitting t-shirt, and walks out of the closet, back into his bedroom to find Kate standing at the foot of the bed.

"Left side is mine," he says, and she moves to the opposite side and sits on the bed. Her dress and pearls and boots are long gone, of course – discarded when she and Alexis were driven here. Now, she is sitting on his bed in black shorts and an NYPD oversized t-shirt. She pulls the cover back, and lays her head on the pillow. Immediately, she knows she is lying on the most luxurious sheets she has even experienced in her life.

"Give me a minute," he says as he walks out of the bedroom. She hears him walking down the hallway, either to Alexis' room or downstairs. Lying in his bed, she considers all that has happened over the past six-plus months. His departure, his near-fatal visit to New York, their missed opportunities since then. She is reminded that six months ago, she was positive a night like tonight was an impossible dream, too-late realized. She thinks of Saturday mornings with Martha, learning more about her former partner than she ever realized.

She takes in the bedroom, she lets everything, here and now, soak in, offering a silent thank you upwards, shaking her head in almost disbelief.

A few minutes later, he returns, with an oversized white cup, holding it by the handle. She sees the steam rising from the cup and immediately recognizes the scent of grande skim latte, with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla. Of course he would have a commercial grade coffee-maker in his home. Of course he would.

He turns the steaming cup in his hands, and offers it to her, handle first. She takes hold of it, and then notices the lettering on the side, obviously written with a black marker.

_Beckett_.

It's written in cursive, simulating a signature. Her hands start to tremble slightly at the gesture. He goes to his side of the bed, and sits, cross-legged facing her.

"As you so accurately noted earlier this evening," he begins, "a cup of coffee has a language all its own. Each cup conveys many different things – things that may be difficult to say," he pauses.

"Or difficult to hear," he finishes, staring into her eyes. There is a sparkle dancing in her hazel greens tonight, as she sits across from him. Each holds the gaze – and what would have been highly uncomfortable earlier this year – even on their best day – is not only comfortable, but neither can tear away their gaze.

"What does this cup say right now", she asks, with a slight smile crawling across her face.

"Well, right now it says 'please don't spill me on the bed covers'," he laughs, as he again notes her slightly trembling hands holding on to the cup. She lowers her head, smiling, then raises her gaze to meet his again.

"This one just says 'thank you'," he offers her. "For being here tonight. Although I imagine there will be other cups during these holidays, each with their own message."

"I can hardly wait," she sighs, taking a few extra sips. "Well, Mr. Castle, this is some first date you spring on a girl . . ."

"Not quite the way I planned things," he laughs.

"And how exactly did you plan things," she asks seductively, a different smile – a predatory smile – now facing him.

"Well . . . I . . ."

He jumps out of bed so quickly, it takes her by surprise. He is out the bedroom door quickly – again. As he half jogs down the hallway to the stairs, he hears her calling out to him.

"Geesh, Castle, you wait over four years to get me into your bed and I can't keep you in the bedroom?"

Within seconds, her heart skips a beat as she realizes the monumental gaffe . . .

"_Oh shit . . . Alexis!"_ she reminds herself. No way the young redhead missed that one. She takes a chance, getting out of the bed and walks toward his bedroom door and out into the hallway leading toward the landing. Sure enough, Alexis stands in her own doorway, with a smirk on her face that has Kate hiding her own face, one hand covering her eyes, downcast and the other holding on to the cup of coffee.

"Hello, Alexis," she manages, just in time to see Rick bounding back up the stairs. He glances at Beckett, then instinctively turns his head toward Alexis' room and sees his daughter standing there; a Cheshire cat indeed.

"What'd I miss?" he asks, his head going from one woman to the other.

Alexis chuckles, and closes her door with a simple "G'nite dad." Beckett for her part, walks toward the guest room, opens the door, walks in and shuts the door, leaving Richard Castle standing on the landing.

"What'd I miss?" he repeats.

A few seconds later, she hears the knock on the door. She's pulled the covers back to the guest bed and sits there, taking in the view of the water from this bedroom. The door opens, and she offers him an meek smile.

"I suppose she heard . . ." he realizes, now smirking himself.

"This is your fault," she says with a slight giggle. "Never thought I'd have a problem keeping you in bed."

He laughs, sitting down next to her on the bed. He is holding a laptop in one hand, and his free hand rummages back through his hair.

"You know, we really _can't_ do normal can we," he states, not really asking a question.

"Where's the fun in that, Castle."

She puts her cup of coffee on the nightstand, and stares at the laptop he has brought.

"I've gotta tell you, Rick, jumping out of bed to show me a website isn't instilling a lot of confidence in me, here," she kids, wondering why he has brought the laptop.

"You asked me how I thought the night would go," he begins, as he opens the laptop, and enters in his password to get past the main screen. He hands places the laptop in her hands, and stands up, walking back toward the door. At the door, he looks back to her.

"You wanted to know how I thought it would go . . . Look at the row of icons, and open the folder called Dates. Click on Cliff House. It seems you and I had similar ways of dealing with all of this."

He smiles, and shuts the door behind him.

He walks back to his room, with a strange smile lifting his countenance. No, it's not at all the way he had thought / hoped / planned this evening. But so what . . . she is here, he is here. His complex is opening tomorrow, and they've successfully admitted their first client already. Alexis is smiling, not brooding. All in all, things could have gone an awful lot worse than this.

Once in his room, he changes his mind, and heads to the bathroom, kicking off his boxers and pulling the t-shirt over his head. He turns the shower on, and the re-circulating hot water system has his water nice and steaming in seconds. He steps in to the shower, closing his eyes, allowing the water to beat down across his back, his head against the shower wall. The effects of a long day and a longer evening drip off him slowly, and he finally turns toward the rushing water and lathers up. A few minutes later, he exits the shower stall and grabs the large Giants beach towel hanging on the hook next to the glass door.

He dries off, and moves to the sink to brush his teeth. He picks up the hair dryer, but immediately puts it down. It's late and all he wants to do now is crash and sleep. Tomorrow morning starts it all – the complex opens at 9, but he will get there around 7:30. He will let Alexis and Kate sleep in. Alexis knows how to order breakfast from the small restaurant down the hill if they want, or there is plenty of food in the fridge.

He throws his Giants boxers on with a black t-shirt and opens the door, walking from his bathroom into his bedroom, and is met with the sight of Kate Beckett – again sitting on his bed.

"Kate?"

"That was some date."

He smiles. "That was just one version, is all."

"Mmm, hmm," she murmurs.

She stands – still in her pajamas, and her hair bounces along her shoulders as she walks toward him slowly.

"The least I can do . . ." she states, taking her steps slowly – and with each step she swings her leg in front of the other, slowly – quite seductively. He takes in her long legs, barefoot now that seem to – saunter would be the word he would use – towards him.

". . . is make sure . . ." she continues, now just a couple of steps away.

". . . that you get . . ." she smiles, now standing in front of him. She places her hands on his chest, and whatever logical thoughts he was processing at the moment have just been clubbed senseless.

". . . the ending you wrote about," she finishes, hands never leaving his chest, but now almost kneading his shirt like a purring kitten, she pulls him downward towards her by the shirt.

"Kate –"

"Shut up, Rick."

Her lips touch his chin, and she slightly raises herself on her tiptoes so that her lips graze along his cheek. His hands drifts to her side, but she grabs them with her own, and holds them tightly against his chest.

"Mmmmm," he hears her murmur, as her lips brush across his – so gentle, so gentle. Then her lips capture his lower lip. She releases it immediately as she puts her arms around his neck and pulls him into a deep kiss, her head making small circles before she slides her tongue between his lips.

His eyes are closed, and his takes in this moment, breathing her in, relishing her, mentally capturing every detail of this moment that has taken years to come to fruition. And this isn't some undercover, 'what-was-that' kiss that they will never talk about. Oh, he has much to say about this.

He opens his eyes and is taken aback, realizing that she has not closed hers at all during this moment. She runs her tongue across his upper lip, and then finishes with a quick peck. The dizzying smile she gives him is relentless, and he shifts from one leg to the other just to maintain his balance.

"Wow."

"Yeah," she smiles, as she lowers herself back flat-footed, steps back and begins walking toward the door, heading back to the guest room.

"Wait . . . that's it?" he asks, his arms out-stretched, smiling largely.

"I guess so," she replies. "That's all you wrote."

She gives a giggle – seriously, a small giggle – as she leaves the room, closing the door behind her. As a writer, he knows a 'good moment' when he sees one, so he doesn't chase her down. They have two weeks – they can talk this slowly. He wants to take this slowly. And he sure as hell wants more of the last couple of minutes.

He walks toward his side of the bed, and flops down on the bed, pulling his legs in and pulling the covers up. Staring at the ceiling, he offers up a silent thank you. The events of this evening run through his mind again. It's a good start.

He is interrupted with the ping of his cell phone. It's her ring notification. He grabs his phone, seeing her picture with the text message.

"_I'm proud of you, Rick."_

He smiles. Those words mean a lot. He types a response to her.

"_Thank you, Kate. I'm glad you are here."_

"_Me, too. I'm sorry we missed the sunset."_

"_What sunset . . . "_

" _:) Thanks for the coffee"_

"_Until tomorrow, then."_

"_Good Night, Rick."_

**AN:** This chapter was a little harder to write, because we're getting into the meat of why Castle is on the west coast, and, to be honest, there is no way anyone can really do justice to the topic of abuse. I know this is fan fiction, but I also know there are so many out there for whom this topic is probably too real. I apologize in advance for any incorrect liberties I take. I just want to write a good story, about a couple of characters we all love, and talk about an issue that is tough to talk about, for some reason. I know it has reared its head in my extended family, and it's not a pleasant discussion – and sure as hell worse for the woman (and possible children) going through it. That's all I will say. I hope no one is offended.

Again, I apologize for the delay and getting chapters out, but – unlike other stories - this just isn't the type of story where I'm able to just sit and start writing. Working on it, though . . .


	13. Chapter 13

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 13**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Dec 19, 2011, Lunchtime at The Castles, Safe Complex**_

It is a few minutes after noon, and lunch time at The Castles Complex. It's been a busy morning, a productive morning.

He stares down at the roast beef sandwich that – for the most part – still sits untouched on the paper plate. He's made sure that some form of lunch will be delivered to the staff every day. Today, that little benefit has been a waste of money. He sits with Mike, Colin and Dr. Samantha Peraza, along with Wendy Skylans, the campus manager. Other than Dr. Peraza, who has been "attacking that meatball sandwich with gusto" as Colin had noticed, the others have barely touched their meals.

Seventeen women have come to the complex for admissions during the morning. Castle is not sure whether to consider 17 a big number, a good number or a small number. He's not sure whether to be happy about it, or to be disappointed by it. Is this a good start, or should they consider it a poor start? He just doesn't know.

On one hand, this is seventeen women who have decided that the status quo is so dangerous for them and unacceptable to them that they have opted to walk away from everything – absolutely everything. They arrive with only what they could carry.

A purse.

A suitcase.

A child.

Each has filed charges against the man in question. That's the good news. That is one of the conditions for admission. The team had gone back and forth on this one, as it had been a sticking point throughout discussions for more than a month prior to the opening. In the end, they agreed – some, quite reluctantly – that filing charges be a condition of admission. Some had argued that there will be some women that simply won't – or can't – bring themselves to press charges, and would therefore, never take the step to come to The Castles. Others felt just as passionately that an attempt to affect change in the abuser himself – or at least punish the abuser - was just as important.

Although the policy has been long decided-upon and is in operation, the conversation continues – even at lunch today.

"It's just too difficult for some women to press charges," Gail Simmons argues. As a nurse from the emergency ward in one of the local hospitals prior to coming to The Castles, Gail has seen enough abused women admit themselves into the emergency room to last a lifetime. Yet, here she is, firmly planted in that reality permanently now. "She will look for the best, she will believe for the best. She can't be faulted for that."

"No, she can't. But there needs to be a record of the abuse," Colin reiterates. "You can't just let a guy do this, mistreat a woman like this, and just get away scott-free."

Wendy is eating an occasional potato chip, while sipping on her lemonade. An interesting choice, Castle thinks to himself with a smile.

"First things first – this is about getting our women to safety," she says, stating her very familiar position on the matter.

"But this isn't _only_ about getting these women into a safe environment," Mike argues, softly. His position on this is well documented. "We don't want to _just_ address the symptom, here. It's about at least taking steps to ensure that the guy who does this will at least think twice the next time."

"If nothing changes, then _nothing_ changes," added Colin. "That goes for the man as well as the woman."

"These women are more than symptoms, Mike . . . " Gail offers, and Mike's retort is drowned out in Castles thoughts that are now elsewhere. They've had this discussion many times, and while he was nervous about such divisive stances initially, he now realizes that everyone can agree on the big picture, while having smaller disagreements. These smaller positions are the passions that drive each of them toward the bigger picture.

They all agreed that getting the woman to safety was priority number one. That was a no-brainer. Regardless of anything else that happens, providing safety to someone who takes the step to leave comes first. That's why this entire complex has been built and funded.

Healing her mentally and restoring her emotionally was priority number two. And that can take a while; hence all of the resources they have invested in, and the potential to stay for half a year. Giving them time to get back on their feet – in every way – and not just throwing them back to the wolves – or wolf – after a weekend or two.

Making sure she didn't walk back into the same – or a similar – environment was priority number three. And taking steps – if possible – to ensure it would at least be more difficult for the abusing guy to get away with it again was the fourth priority.

They also don't want anyone just trying to get a few months of free rent. It's sad that they need to even consider that, but the reality is that they must. There will always be someone ready to take advantage of any opportunity, and no one here is blind to that. This point – in fact – was one of the stumbling blocks they had to overcome during the initial fundraising phase.

Of the seventeen women admitted this morning, three of them - like Marissa Honeycutt - bring a child with them. Karen Marks, a 24-year old teacher is just coming off maternity leave. She has brought her three month old daughter. Luckily they are in the holiday break at school, but Castle idly wonders how she will go back to school and teach. Will her boyfriend try to visit her at school once classes reconvene? She filed charges and hopes to get a restraining order. These things aren't as cut and dried as television makes them out to be. At least she won't have to worry about her baby, because of the child care service on-site at the campus.

"_And who in the hell hits a woman three months after she has a baby,"_ he wonders to himself, then shudders with guilt at the unvoiced question, immediately recognizing that a man shouldn't _ever_ hit any woman, at _any_ time. Has he begun to fall prey to dangerous thinking already? He shakes such thoughts away.

"_I'm going to help them,"_ he reminds himself. But he finds himself suddenly incomplete, and cannot place the reason why. Then he thinks about their eyes.

It is what has stayed with him all morning - the terror in these women's eyes. Oh, they hide it. A few of them mask it almost too well. They glance downward, they look away, and they offer a smile of thanks. But he can see it. It lies just behind the smile, just behind the 'thank you', just behind the hand shake. There is a lot of healing that needs to happen for them. He once again is grateful that they agreed to the lengthy stays for these women, and wonders if even six months is too short.

He has noticed that most of the women have come in their own cars. He isn't sure whether this surprises him or not, but it strikes him that many of these women are – professionally speaking – successful. They hold their own jobs, they have their own cars. He – for not the first time – mentally blots out the stereotype that had unknowingly made its way into his head regarding battered and abused women. There really is no commonality between these women, no template – other than their gender.

Scratch that - there is that one other common thing:

Every woman – every single one of them – has come in with fresh bruises, received within the past 24 hours. It was Dr. Peraza who first voiced her concern over this.

"I'm glad to see them, don't get me wrong," she had mentioned to Castle while sitting in his office before they retreated to the large kitchen area in the administrative building to meet with the others over lunch.

"But every one of them has been assaulted within the last day or so. It's so much easier to make the decision to get out when the bruise is fresh, while the pain still stings," she had said. "But I was . . . I _am_ really, really hoping to see some admissions with no bruising, someone who is in that relationship right now but hasn't left before. Someone who has heard of our complex here and has opted to get out before the next beating occurs."

"The next beating?" he had asked. It had sounded pretty damn insensitive, he thought.

"No one hits a woman only once, Rick."

The statement had taken him aback, and he finds himself struggling with that revelation once again, as he picks up the sandwich, takes a nibble and a swig from his water bottle, and then re-wraps the sandwich.

"It's a pattern," she had told him. "It starts with a thought – and then an act. He thinks about hitting her, and then he hits her. Nothing happens, and so when the opportunity presents itself, he hits her – or someone else – again. A thought becomes an act, an act becomes a habit and then the habit becomes a behavior."

Bringing Dr. Peraza on board is just one of the many thankful points he considers as he tosses his sandwich back into the paper bag, and the bag into the trash can behind him against the wall.

"Wasn't going to be eating much of this guy today," he grumbles, half to himself.

_**Dec 19, 2011, Lunchtime at Castle's Sausalito Home**_

The two women sit in front of the crackling fireplace, their scarves still snug around their necks, and long-sleeved sweaters still firmly in place. Each holds a hot chocolate in hands that have discarded their gloves. The young redhead holds a black mug in the form of a penguin, while the older woman holds a large white cup with two hands, her name still hand-written in a black marker across the face of the mug.

"I'm trying to decide what it means that you seem to be in better shape than me," Alexis tells Kate Beckett, as she sips the hot liquid, holding it in her mouth for a second or two before swallowing.

"You may be 16," Kate answers, stopping to blow the steam and smoke off the top of her mug, "but you don't chase bad guys for a living. Think of what I do as sports on steroids."

The women smile, and continue staring at the fireplace, trying to warm themselves. They have just finished a two-mile run through the neighborhood. Up one small hill of homes, down another; looming around each corner was a majestic post card view of the San Francisco Bay. Kate is already looking forward to tackling this run on her own in the days ahead, and extending it by a mile or so. She's finally starting to feel more like her old self, physically at least. But the chance to run with Alexis; the chance to spend some quality time with the young girl – with few words spoken between them – couldn't be passed up. Even with the very cold, north bay-area winter wind nipping at them every step of the way.

Kate had awoken first, around 6:30 in the morning, and walked downstairs to see Richard Castle sitting at the counter, finishing a bowl of cereal.

"Morning, Kate," he had said. "I'd have made you breakfast if I'd known you would be getting up early."

"Good morning to you," she had responded with a smile, and then told him not to worry about it. "To be honest, I'm probably going to try and go back to sleep for a bit once you leave and then come visit you after lunch. I just wanted to catch you before you left."

"That's very thoughtful," he smiles. "You should be resting. And there is no need to come out today. You're here on vacation, as my guest. I insist –"

"You insist?" she had smiled.

"Ok, I don't insist. I invite you to rest and relax. You had a long day yesterday, and a longer evening."

"A nice evening," she had reminded him. The memories of last night – revelations shared and just the joy of a casual evening together – were probably in large part a reason for one of the best nights of sleep she has had in . . . hell, in years, maybe.

"You're sweet," she had told him, with a good morning kiss on the cheek. "But I didn't come all this way out here _not_ to immerse myself into your life, Rick."

She sips her hot chocolate, replaying their early morning conversation. She knows – she knew immediately – that her declaration of 'immersing herself into his life' took him aback. Maybe he wasn't expecting anything like this from her, or maybe it's just too soon.

"_Is he not ready?"_ she asks herself for the fifth time this morning.

It doesn't matter. Her commitment to herself – something she reminded herself numerous times on the plane ride out here just yesterday – was to be 'all in' with this. This wasn't something she could just dip her toe in the water over. She couldn't do this half-way, or half-hearted. He deserved more. Hell, _she_ deserved more. They both did. And she has history – this year, these past couple of years – to remind her what the results of half-hearted, half-way actions bring.

She brushes these thoughts aside, as knows that they took a major step forward last night – in so many ways – but she also can sense that he is holding back. He's there with her, he's ready to jump in, but she senses he's still holding on to the life preserver.

"_I don't blame you, Rick,"_ she thinks again to herself. _"I hurt you . . . so badly."_ She is again – not for the first time – shaking her head, thankful that he chose to run from her those months ago rather than stay and fight for her, or fight to hurt her back. He's not the kind of man to do something like that, she knows.

She need only look at the multi-million dollar complex he has built out here to ensure women _don't have to fight._

"Earth to Kate," she hears the young woman next to her, and snaps out of her reverie. She had gone back to bed and slept another few hours until 10:30 – completely unheard of for her. When she came downstairs – the second time – Alexis was putting on running shoes ready to head outside. Running is something Alexis has taken up since moving out west. The views she gets while running through their Sausalito neighborhood are spectacular. Kate had asked to join her, so Alexis had let her borrow a scarf and gloves.

"Sorry, Alexis. What did you say?"

"I was just offering a penny for your thoughts. You seem far away."

"I was thinking about your dad."

"Oh."

And with that, they begin a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. Kate knows that Alexis is wary of her, and she can't blame her. Obviously, one of the reasons – the main reason - she wanted to come out here was to see Rick, and to try to create something new with him. His departure had left a huge hole, a void that only presents itself when something – someone – is taken away.

The other reason was to see this project that had so totally grabbed ahold of him. He's been consumed by it, and she understands that single-minded focus. Yet, he has done all of this, and still has found time to let her in far more deeply, to be far more open with her than she ever has been with him. It is yet another reason she considers herself somewhat unworthy of him. And she knows if she even voices this opinion to him, he would vehemently disagree.

The third reason – of course - was to begin to repair the all-important relationship with his daughter. This has no illusions that this might be the toughest task of all – yet no less important than the other two. Martha had warned her that winning the young girl over would be far more difficult than her father. He was – at least at one point – head over heels over Beckett.

Alexis was . . . not.

"So, what about him?" she asks the detective.

"_And, here we go,"_ Kate thinks to herself, before responding. She's had a few video conversations with Alexis over the past month or so, but Castle had always been there. Whether intentional or not, his presence had served to somewhat moderate their discussions. The conversations had always been civil; they had always been safe.

"Where do I start?"

"Why don't you start with why you lied to dad in the hospital. Start with how you could even think - for a minute - that lying to him wasn't ripping his heart out!"

So much for safe. There is no venom in Alexis' words, no malice in her eyes. The sheer lack of both is highly unsettling. The words are delivered in an almost scary, matter-of-fact tone.

"It's complicated, Alexis –"

"No, it's really not."

Kate stares at the younger woman, then blows on her hot chocolate again as she recollects her thoughts, considering how to answer the question that – surprisingly – even _he_ hasn't asked her yet.

"Alexis, I –"

"Do you know the one single agreement that dad and I have?" Alexis interrupts. "The one thing that has been our rock?"

"No, what is it?"

"No lying. Always tell the truth." Her gaze penetrates through Kate's defenses. This is going to be a long discussion. Long overdue.

"The one thing dad and I know is that the truth isn't always the easy road, but it's the only road for us," Alexis continues. "The one thing dad always drilled into me was that everything would always work out between us if we never had to worry if the other was telling the truth."

"You've never lied to your dad?" It's a statement more than a question.

"No. Well – there have been times where I have omitted certain things, but now I see that even those times were wrong."

With that, Kate puts the cup down, and rubs her hands together – still gathering her thoughts. She glances back at Alexis, and is met with a not unfriendly, but not welcoming stare.

"Sometimes, Alexis . . . sometimes the truth is too hard and just needs a little time."

Alexis nods her head, almost imperceptibly, and then shakes her head at Kate. There was a time when she kind of idolized this woman. She still likes her. She just doesn't trust her.

"Do you know what dad told me, a few years ago?" Her voice has lowered, to almost reverent tones as she draws back on a long-ago conversation with her father. Her eyes mist immediately – against her will – as she begins her story.

"I can't tell you how many times he has said this to me."

"Tell me."

"When sailors were at sea, in danger of losing their way, they found comfort, and hope, and direction, in the North Star. The North Star is the one star in the night sky that doesn't appear to change position. So sailors use it to help them navigate."

Beckett nods her head in agreement. She can almost hear Rick speak these words, so poetically. She wonders, while listening, if Alexis has memorized this speech from him verbatim.

"The North Star doesn't change. It is true, all the time. It is their True North."

Kate inwardly cringes at the metaphor while Alexis continues. If she is honest with herself, she absolutely expected to have this type of discussion out here on her trip. The surprise is that it is with Castle's teenage daughter, and not him.

"That's why the truth is so important," Alexis continues, pressing onward. "It becomes our solid ground. Our North Star. It becomes a voice that stays with us always. A voice that can be trusted, always."

The tears in Alexis' eyes startle Kate, almost as much as the tears forming in her own eyes. She picks up her cup of chocolate again. There is safety in its warmth. At least temporarily.

"Dad promised me he would always be that truth. He promised me that he would always be that North Star, that solid ground for me, that I could always trust," she half sobs, now starting to break down. She has no idea what Kate had been thinking about on their run through the neighborhood, but Alexis' thoughts were strong, and consistent. She was thinking about her North Star, her True North. She was thinking about how she had to protect – fight for – her North Star, because he would not fight for himself.

"That year, he asked me to be his North Star. He asked me to always be truthful with him – to be his solid ground. He told me that whether I was 15 or 50, my words would either be solid ground or quicksand for him."

Kate stares at her cup, the steam still rising from the top. She knows the words coming next – and damn if this girl isn't her father's daughter.

"You're quicksand for him, Detective Beckett. He loves you so much . . . so much . . . but you're not solid ground for him."

"That's not fair, Alexis," Kate states, interrupting Alexis' musings. This is getting out of hand too quickly. She has to regain some modicum of control here.

"This isn't about fair, Detective Beckett. That's what you don't seem to get. That's what you never seemed to get."

"What do you –"

"This is about truth. The truth isn't always fair. But neither is life. Dad says that when life is unfair, you have to have your North Star, your solid ground. If you don't have that, then you sink, you get swallowed up."

She stops for a moment, as she can tell that the older woman is listening to – and considering her words. She has to give the detective credit for that. So many other adults would brush off the ramblings of a teenager, but Kate Beckett appears to be weighing what she hears. And the tears in her eyes confirm this.

In her youthful, unknowing inexperience, Alexis continues onward, plunging the emotional dagger in more deeply.

The truth, detective, is that you can lie in a bed and lie to his face, and then let him walk out a door. I don't . . . I . . ."

Alexis stops, as she grabs for the scarf around her neck to dab at her eyes, wiping away her own tears.

"I like you Kate, I really do," the young girl continues, brushing a couple of strands of red hair away from her face. "I know your life hasn't been easy, I know this. I can't imagine how I would be if I lost dad, like you lost your mom. And that's the point. I can't just sit by and let dad waltz through the jungle into quicksand. It will kill him. It will . . . it will . . ."

She can't continue. Her eyes are starting to get puffy. Already? They've only been talking for a few minutes and they've already reached the waterfalls?

"What, Alexis," Kate offers, between sniffles of her own. "It will what?"

Alexis brings her gaze back to the older woman her dad loves, has tried not to love, but can't help but love. She wipes away another tear, and picks her penguin cup back up, holding it in both hands.

"It will turn him into you."

**AN:** A few things happening here, as you can tell. Castle is settling into his new reality with his shelter, and all that entails. This is a huge apple he has bitten into. He's about to find out how big. And occasionally, apples have had worms.

His daughter, on the other hand, is going into protect-the-castle mode. Alexis, for most of this story so far, has just been in the background, waiting in the wings so to speak. As a man who – for a few years – was a single dad with three children living with him, I can tell you that a daughter can get uber-protective about her dad, and cannot be swayed by logic, heart, or pretty much anything else.

More to come. Thank you all –again - for staying with the journey.


	14. Chapter 14

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 14**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Dec 19, 2011, Lunchtime at Richard Castle's Sausalito Home**_

_**Continuing the conversation between Kate and Alexis**_

"I like you Kate, I really do," the young girl continues, brushing a couple of strands of red hair away from her face. "I know your life hasn't been easy, I know this. I can't imagine how I would be if I lost my dad, like you lost your mom. And that's the point. I can't just sit by and let dad waltz through the jungle into quicksand. It will kill him. It will . . . it will . . ."

She can't continue. Her eyes are starting to get puffy. Already? They've only been talking for a few minutes and they've already reached the waterfalls?

"What, Alexis," Kate offers, between sniffles of her own. "It will what?"

Alexis brings her gaze back to the older woman her dad loves, has tried not to love, but can't help but love. She wipes away another tear, and picks her penguin cup back up, holding it in both hands.

"It will turn him into you."

The words hit Kate – they touch her in the precise manner Alexis intended. Kate's problem – according to Alexis' point of view – is that everything is always about her, how things impact her, how her past has affected her.

Kate can't disregard the frustrating wisdom in the young girl's words – "It will turn him into you". She knows exactly what Alexis means. It will cause him to lose trust, to build walls, to shelter his heart from those who love him the most. She knows the truth in this. She has _lived_ this truth, for over a decade. Still, the youngster needs a bit of a dose of reality, she tells herself.

"I'm not going to disagree with you, Alexis," Kate tells the young red-head, putting her cup down. She stands and takes a couple of steps away from Castle's daughter, before turning and taking a couple of steps back towards the girl, sitting back down returning to her – and the conversation.

"The last thing I want is for your dad to walk down my path," Kate continues. "But until you've actually walked a few years on my path – or a few more years at all for that matter – let's keep a little perspective."

"What do you me-" Alexis asks, but Kate interrupts her.

"I lost my mom when I was just about your age – just a few years older than you are right now," Kate continues. "You already know this, but here is what I want to ask you to do for me, Alexis."

"I lost my mother, too!" Alexis counters.

"Your mother is still alive," Kate states calmly.

"Your mother wanted you. Mine didn't."

This is going nowhere fast. Kate knows she needs to get control of this conversation and quickly. It is spiraling downward.

"Alexis – go with me on this. You said you can't imagine things if you lost your dad. Well, suppose that earlier this summer it wasn't me who was shot. Suppose it was your dad instead of me. Let's say – for the sake of our discussion – that your dad threw himself in front of the bullet two seconds sooner. Your dad is shot, and despite everyone's efforts, he doesn't make it. Your dad is dead, Alexis."

She lets the visual sink in before continuing.

"Your dad is gone, Alexis. It's just you and your grandmother. Your dad has been taken away from you. He didn't die of natural causes. He didn't get sick. He was murdered. In cold blood. How do you think you're going to respond?"

"This is all hypothetical, Detec-"

"No – I said to go with me on this, Alexis," Kate tells her, probably more sternly than she intended, but so be it. Alexis needs a fresh perspective.

"Alexis, your dad is dead. The shooter? He's free. No one cares about him. They've swept the case under the rug," Kate continues, a fire now in her eyes. "You want revenge, at first. That's normal. But soon, it's not even about revenge. It's about justice. It's about doing the right thing. And no one seems to care about 'the right thing', Alexis. Your dad is dead, but you are still here, and you have his inheritance, you have your grandmother – why can't you just let it go, why can't you just move on? That's what everyone wants to know, Alexis. When are you going to be able to move on? Be more trusting. Tear down your walls, because they are so unhealthy. Move on."

Alexis stares at Kate Beckett, maybe for the first time with a real, empathetic appreciation or understanding of Kate's life.

"Picture yourself there, Alexis. Yeah, your mom abandoned you, but now your dad is dead. And everyone has moved on, and they want you to move on, too. Forget about revenge, forget about justice – don't rock the boat," Kate states. She stares deeply into the younger girl's eyes. "NOW, talk to me about fair, Alexis. Talk to me about truth. Talk to me about trust, now, little orphaned girl. No one cares your dad is gone, no one cares that his killer is still out there, free. Talk to me about fair, Alexis."

Alexis tries to form words, but for a brief second, no words come. She is scrambling now. She appreciates Kate a bit more now, but in no way wants to let her off the hook, hypothetical situation or not. The reality is that her dad has been hurt – badly – by this woman, and Alexis doesn't want to see yet another repeat of this.

However, before she can formulate her next words, Kate continues.

"None of this justifies what I have done to your dad, Alexis," Kate continues, and now the young girl looks once again into the fierce gaze of the detective. "I know there is no excuse for that, and I don't want you to think I am offering excuses. I do want you to understand – however – that sometimes things happen in life, and you might be surprised at how you will react to those situations."

Alexis nods her head in understanding.

"I'm sorry that I lied to your dad, Alexis," Kate continues. "I have hurt your dad beyond belief – I know this now. I am forever stunned and forever grateful that I haven't hurt him beyond repair. I know that I can't say 'I am sorry' enough times. But I truly, truly am sorry. And if I have to spend the rest of my life convincing you of this, then so be it."

"You don't have to convince me, Detective Beckett. It's my dad that you love, and it's him you need to convince. But we both know you are well on the way to that."

"You're wrong Alexis. I do have to convince you. You are the most important person in your dad's world-"

"That's not necessarily-"

"True?" Kate finishes. "Oh, trust me, Alexis, this is so true. You are the most important person in your dad's life. And if I don't get your blessing, this thing is over. I know that. And deep down, you know it too."

"Geesh, Detective, that's a lot of pressure on me", the young girl offers.

"No, Alexis, no pressure at all. The pressure is all on me. I have to make amends. To you, and to your dad. And I'm not stupid enough to think that this happens overnight. With you, or your dad."

"Dad's already there, I think . . ."

"I wish, Alexis. I wish. But no, he's not. Last night he and I had a wonderful, wonderful night. It was – in all ways – our first real date as two people trying to be a couple."

Alexis nods her head, and snickers a bit at a memory of Kate calling her dad back to bed the previous night.

"Mind out of the gutter, young lady," Kate laughs, and it breaks the ice just a bit more between the two most important women in Richard Castle's life.

"Even with the wonderful time we had last night, believe me, the mistrust was just under the surface. We both could feel it. We both are – how would you say it – trying to be completely honest right now. It is hard – it is so hard hearing what he thinks, what he believes, what I have done to him."

The doorbell interrupts the two women, startling both. Alexis looks at her watch, as a huge smile forms across her face as she hops off the couch and jogs toward the front door.

"Just a minute, Detective," she calls back, as she opens the front door and a shorter, younger blonde girl steps into the foyer, into a long hug with Alexis.

"Jenna," Alexis says still beaming. "How is my baby sister."

Jordan Shaw walks in behind her daughter, looking magnificent, Kate thinks to herself. Clearly Alexis and Jenna have gotten close. Probably from the video calls Jordan and Castle have had over the past months, as he familiarized Jordan with his project, and the role he wants her to play. Were it not for the fact that Kate and Jordan themselves have gotten close in those same months, Kate would feel a pang of jealousy right now at the relationship between Jordan's daughter and Castle's daughter.

Screw it – who is she kidding? She knows nothing is there between Castle and Jordan, but those insecurities are there nonetheless.

"Thank God she's married happily to a great-" Kate thinks to herself, and then smiles in beautiful relief as she sees Tom Shaw, Jordan's husband walking behind his wife, dragging two rolling luggage cases behind him.

_**Dec 19, 2011, 6pm – roughly five hours later at The Castle's Complex**_

"Has everyone made it?" Richard Castle asks aloud to no one in particular. The day is ending, and twenty-three of the twenty-four women expected today have made it to The Castles. The last woman, Penny Zimmerman, still has not checked in. She called into the center around 4pm, ready to leave an abusive husband, but needing a ride. She had been told to leave her home and walk to the coffee shop down the block from her flat on 19th Avenue, where one of the limo cars would pick her up. Allowing for traffic across the bridge in rush hour, she should be arriving any minute now. Once she is settled in, Castle plans to head home.

Kate had texted him right after lunch, letting him know that Jordan had arrived. He already knew this information, as Jordan had texted him when she landed, and he had told her just to head to his place. She's been there before so getting there wouldn't be a problem.

The twenty-three women in the complex are all in their homes.

"I suppose they will be making dinners for themselves soon," he thinks to himself. Tonight at 7:30, they have the first orientation scheduled. The plan is that this will be a one-hour, get-to-know-you session, orienting the women to the complex and all it offers, as well as the schedule of roundtables and seminars. One of the seminars will be chaired by Jordan, hence her presence as planned.

The other purpose of the orientation is to allow the women to meet one another. It's probably unlikely that any of them know each other, but who knows . . . Regardless, getting to know one another, giving the women someone to talk with, knowing who their 'neighbors' are going to be – it's all part of the process they have put into place.

An eruption of cheers interrupts Castle, and he smiles at the three men sitting on the couch facing the large, 60-inch LCD hanging on the wall. Turning to see the television, he sees the source of the cheers, as it seems the lights are back on at Candlestick Park. The Steelers-49ers Monday Night game has been delayed for roughly 20 minutes or so due to some type of power outage at the stadium.

He chuckles to himself, as he had always thought the New York Giant fans to be a bit on the rowdy side. The west coast fans in San Francisco seem to be right there with them. Not the typical laid-back California types he had anticipated upon his arrival.

"_And that's not even considering the nut-jobs across the bay in Oakland,"_ he smiles to himself. The Raider fans scare him.

Dawn walks into the lounge area of the administrative building and walks over to the glass fridge, grabs a beer and pops the top, sitting down with the guys, who part like an ocean to give her room alongside them. Castle smiles again at the rapid camaraderie that has developed amongst his team, and it reminds him how fortune has smiled on him with this project.

The fund-raising was far easier than he anticipated, and convincing key people he wanted engaged proved to be even easier. More, the city police departments have welcomed him with open arms, which surprised him. He is no fool, and realizes the sheer lunacy that enabled him to become a part of a New York precinct. Not expecting lightning to strike twice, he prepared himself for a lengthy battle with the area police departments who might feel he is stepping into their jurisdiction.

He clears his mind of such thoughts and once again settles back into the large, leather arm chair, handling a short glass of bourbon and ice in his left hand. He closes his eyes and within seconds, her face appears.

His previous evening with Kate was nothing short of perfect. She had come, first of all. Given their history and how the fates – for years – seemed to aspire against them – he had no illusions that her getting on the plane and actually flying out here was a given.

Once here, they had fallen into an almost soft and comfortable routine – as if they had done this for years. He had found that just the simplest of things – holding her hand, for example – sent chills of joy through him. He smiles as he remembers feeling as giddy as a young teenager as they sped along the streets in San Francisco, singing old rock songs. Their goodnight kiss – soft and passionate and – dammit – no here near long enough – had sent a tingle through a few somewhat dormant areas of anatomy. But nothing, not even the kiss, is a special to him as those moments outside the Cliff House, along the wall facing the ocean.

He remembers – no, he _feels_ Kate backing into him, her head resting against his chest, allowing him to wrap himself around her. It's like he is still there with her. The night had been bitter cold with the wind slapping them hard in the face, but her softness standing back into him provided all the warmth he needed.

And the talks – the utter honesty of their conversations had first startled him, and then stunned him. He had figured it would take them the entire two weeks of her visit to start to tear down her walls once and for all. And if he is honest with himself, he realizes he has erected a few walls himself.

Yet last night, those walls were glass, shattering at their feet. Discussions that normally would have sent her to the hills with one of her sarcastic, smart-ass remarks – softened only by a flirty smile – well, those discussions last night bore luscious fruit that he plans to nuture.

"_Hello my beautiful detective,"_ he types one-handed into his phone in his left hand, sipping on his bourbon.

He glances back at the television, noticing the game is ready for kick-off as his phone pings. He smiles as he reads the response.

"_Hello yourself, my prince."_

He begins typing when he sees the typing bubble appear, indicating Kate is still typing. Seconds later, his smile spreads into a bonafide grin.

"_When are you coming home?"_

Kate, for her part, smiles herself as she sends her message. One day here, and she is referring to it as 'home'. She shakes her head, willing such thoughts away.

"_Far too soon," she smiles to herself, "But God, it does sound nice."_

"_Mi casa is su casa, mon Cherie" _he types, waiting for her response. He stands, and walks toward the bar area and grabs the bottle of bourbon and pours another couple of inches of the dark liquid, and hears her response pinging his phone as he sits back down.

"_Gee, Castle, you mixed three different languages in that text."_ A couple of smiley faces follow the text. He nods in silence, typing his response.

"_Have to keep you interested, detective."_

He glances at his watch again, as if this can will the limo to get Penny Zimmerman to the complex any faster.

"_Oh, I've had enough of interesting for a day"_ is her response. He nods his head in understanding.

"_My daughter is that,"_ he types. Must have been quite a conversation they had, and that is not surprising. He knew that an entire day together would present opportunities for – let's say – open sharing, and his daughter was not one to shy away from those conversations.

"_Still in this with me?"_ he types.

"_Always"_

He can only smile at her response. Suddenly he is tired, and all he wants to do is be home, in front of a fire, with Kate next to him. All he wants is their next conversation, their next hand-hold, their next kiss. But he knows tonight he needs an hour or so to brief Jordan on the events of the day, and the women now residing there at the complex. Her first session with them will be tomorrow evening. Most of the women will be at work tomorrow during the day, and returning that evening. They are trying to keep as much of their lives as normal as possible. The main exceptions are the new place of residence, and the absence of any physical malice.

He's glad that Jordan decided to bring Tom and Jenna. Alexis and Jenna had become friends during his video chats with Jordan, getting her acquainted with his project and how the project included her. And Tom? Well, just his presence should be enough to ensure that Kate felt no threat from Jordan. He needs Jordan to be a part of this, and he needs Kate to be okay with that. Plus, he's looking forward to meeting Tom, if for no other reason than to corner the man and discover exactly how he was able to land a driven, professional law-enforcement officer and help her walk the family line.

"_I could use all the help I can get,"_ he thinks to himself, as he watches Mike Monroe stand up and step away from the couch – and the game – reading out of the room, phone in his ear.

"_What are we doing for dinner?"_ he types into his phone, suddenly famished. The quarter of a sandwich he managed to get down during lunch now is screaming for company in his stomach, and he knows he needs to comply, and quickly.

"_Burgers. Alexis and I kept it simple."_

"_My two ladies, cooking in the kitchen? And I missed it?" _He smiles at the playful banter they can settle into, even texting on the phone.

"Plenty of time to catch us in person . . ."

He smiles at her response, and the repeated dots indicating more – much more. He sighs contentedly, taking another swig of bourbon. The door opens and Mike appears with Ron, the limo driver who has brought Mrs. Zimmerman to the complex.

"_Finally,"_ he thinks to himself, but then notices the look on Mike's face, which is mirrored on the normally hardened face of Ron, the former bouncer at one of the bay area bars.

"Is everything okay, Ron?" he asks, looking from one man to the other.

"No, Rick, everything is not okay."

"What happened? Where is Mrs. Zimmerman?"

Ron – surprisingly – ignores Castle's question and simply walks to the bar area, and grabs a glass. He picks up a bottle of opened Scotch, pours it to the top of the small glass and takes a large swallow.

"She wasn't there, at the coffee shop for pick up," Mike begins, as he walks back toward his boss. "Ron asked the staff if they had seen her. They told him she was there, but her husband showed up. Evidently he followed her."

"So she went back home," Castle says aloud. "She backed out?"

"Not exactly," Mike responds. "Ron went directly to their flat to make sure everything was ok. The cops were already there. Evidently the husband had called them."

"Why? What's happened?" Castle asks, a feeling of horrid dread now rising in his gut.

"She's dead, Rick," Mike says softly. "He killed her."

**AN:** First things first. We were blessed with our second grandson earlier this week, and we've been playing Mimi and Papa. So please forgive the huge, huge delay. Working on the next installment now.

Second, I apologize for the downer finish to this chapter – but not all abuse situations have happy endings. And if I am going to draw attention to this with this storyline, then I want to show the possibilities, why this is so dangerous. Like many of you, there have been episodes of abuse in my large, extended family over the decades, and not everyone made it out alive.

Finally, there were a couple of interesting reviews to the last chapter. One in particular eloquently discussed the reality that not all abuses are man-on-woman. In fact, the man is the victim in cases as well. This storyline is not intended to ignore that fact. I'm simply writing a story that I think could be a part of the Castle mythos, given the tremendous heart this character has. For those interested in more information on the subject of abuse, please read the review left for this story on Nov 7 by Thomatshu.

I promise there is a happy ending here – but there is always a journey to that destination.


	15. Chapter 15

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 15**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Dec 19, 2011, Dinner at Richard Castle's Sausalito Home**_

It's a quiet, somber dinner at Richard Castle's home in the Sausalito hills. The news of Penny Zimmerman's death casts a dark pall across the dining room where he and Alexis sit with their house guests.

The burgers Kate and Alexis had fried on the kitchen stove are absolutely delicious. The house smells of fried burgers and french fries. Only a famished stomach forced Castle to eat, and truth be told, he is feeling a bit better because of the food.

But only a bit.

Upon hearing the news, Alexis wisely had taken Jenna upstairs so that the two girls could enjoy burgers and SpongeBob in Alexis' room. Jordan had offered Alexis a whispered smile of gratitude at the young red-head's wisdom to read the situation with the younger girl. Jenna knows that her mommy slays dragons. For now, that's as much as Jordan and Tom want their little girl to know.

Further, the younger girls departure has given the adults the freedom to speak openly over burgers and drinks about the day. The sodas that Kate and Alexis had originally taken out have been quickly replaced with stuff of harder substance.

As it turns out, Penny Zimmerman's husband had convinced her to come back home.

"Convinced or coerced?" Tom Shaw asks.

"It doesn't matter," both Kate and Jordan answer, simultaneously. Neither man is surprised, as they are dealing with two experienced, seasoned – and hardened – law enforcement professionals. Both women have seen far more than the human mind should have to be burdened with.

The interesting thing is, so has Castle. The last few years of shadowing Beckett and the 12th Precinct detectives has opened a harsh and dangerous world to him. He's seen . . . well, let's think about it.

A woman stuffed into a wall safe; multiple victims lain out and positioned mimicking his earlier novels; a woman stuffed into a dryer in a building laundry-mat. A woman drowned in an entire bath tub of motor oil.

In an evening of healthy irony, the four adults find themselves reliving and discussing the more artistic cases that Castle and Beckett have solved. Of course, Jordan Shaw offers stories just as chilling, and often on a much larger scale. Tom Shaw sits back, taking it all in. The heart surgeon is no stranger to blood, just in a much different – shall we say, healthier manner.

The discussion is dark – the humor darker – and all recognize the cathartic nature of the conversation. Zimmerman's death hits them personally. It's closer to home than the majority of their cases. Even though none of them knew the victim – they were supposed to know her. They were destined to know her, to meet her, to help her – to save her. Each of them - in their own way - feels responsible – even the surgeon, and he has no logical reason whatsoever to feel responsible for anything.

So they handle it in the way they know best, the way they have learned to deal with horror: with humor, and companionship . . . and a drink.

"One day sooner," Castles says aloud. "One day sooner and she would be alive today."

"No Rick," Jordan says, trying to console the heartbroken writer-turned-philanthropist. "No she wouldn't."

Rick opens his mouth to question her, but Kate interrupts, finishing Jordan's thought process.

"She would have died yesterday."

The two men look at Kate, who simply stares across the table at her FBI counterpart, who is nodding her head in agreement.

"Her husband – what he did today – he would have done yesterday", states Jordan, matter-of-factly, with no emotion.

"So, what – do we just give up? We just accept that some women aren't going to make it out? I can't accept that!" Castle exclaims, his voice rising and shaking simultaneously.

"No, we don't accept it, Rick," Kate says softly. "We look for alternatives – we learn from this," she finishes, holding his hand under the table. He likes her hand in his, he likes her use of the word "we". But most of all, he is grateful for her companionship tonight. And that of Jordan and Tom.

"I'm not used to this line of work like the three of you," Tom Shaw states, and Castle secretly smiles to himself at the man's inclusion of Castle in police work.

"But I can tell you," the surgeon continues, "In the life-and-death line of work, there are casualties. We lose people. We call them victims, we call them patients – but they are casualties, none-the-less."

Kate, Jordan and Richard Castle all nod their heads in agreement, as Tom continues.

"We honor them with what we learn, and how we change as we move forward. We honor them as we save the next victim, the next patient, the next soldier on the battlefield."

Both Castle and Kate share a confused, inquisitive look at the surgeon's use of the soldier and battlefield metaphor. As if reading their minds, Jordan interrupts.

"Not a metaphor – I know that's what you're wondering. Tom served in Iraq in the field hospital in Bagdad."

"_He must have seen a lot a hell there,"_ Castle thinks to himself – as both he and Kate gaze at the FBI profiler's husband with a slightly new pair of eyes. It seems that all of them have their own personal gardens of hell in their background.

"So I need to figure out how to pick up these women differently," Castle states out loud. There is a momentary silence, and then Jordan is the first to break the calm with a sudden explosion of laughter. Kate follows immediately, as Tom places his arm around his wife chuckling as well.

"Castle, even now you are scheming new pick-up lines?" Jordan laughs.

"You see what I have to work with here, Jordan?" Kate laughs, and the four of them enjoy the momentary relief from the heaviness of the evening.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it! All of you," Castle defends, but his pleas fall on deaf ears, as the laugher continues.

"Yes, Rick, figuring out a different way to retrieve these women from their domiciles is a good next step," Kate states, still giggling.

Castles head bobbles back and forth as he mimics Kate's words in a higher pitched voice, which only brings more laughter from the other three adults at the table. Soon enough he joins them in the laughter, getting up to grab a chilled bottle of wine from the wine fridge. He pops the cork, and pours the red liquid out for each of his guests. He cannot shake the irony – yet again – that a death of an innocent woman has caused the four of them to come together in this strangely comforting fashion.

Sitting back down next to Kate, he draws comfort as he feels her head slip against his shoulder, and notices the soft smile on Jordan's face as she watches the couple.

"What can I change?" he asks again out loud. Of course, this will be a discussion tomorrow at The Castles, as each of his team members had agreed to go home and sleep on it. But they all agreed that Day One had presented them with a chilling opportunity to re-think a piece of the puzzle they are creating together.

"Technology," Jordan states.

"_Of course she would opt for that road,"_ Beckett thinks to herself. _"She has more toys at her disposal with the FBI than I can even dream about."_

"What do you mean?" Castle asks.

"Well – it only works if the woman has a smart phone. But build an app that captures her GPS location and sends it to you," Jordan says, thinking through the app out loud, building it in her head.

"She just touches a button. Once it sends you her location, you can go and pick her up."

"And make it a messaging application," Alexis Castle states as she walks into the kitchen next to the dining room, taking out a container of Rocky Road ice cream from the fridge and grabbing two bowls and spoons.

"How long have you been here, pumpkin?" Castle asks his daughter.

"Long enough to hear your lame attempt at new pick-up scenarios, daddy," the young red-head giggles. She places additional emphasis on the word 'daddy', much to the delight of the women at the table.

"What do you mean by messaging application?" Jordan asks her.

"Well, you said you want the app to send you her GPS. When it does that, you go grab her, right?"

Kate, Jordan and Castle nod their heads simultaneously, while Tom eyes the container of Rocky Road, trying to determine how much the young girl is leaving without drawing undue attention to himself.

"So, she sends her location, you go to get her, and when you get to her, you need to send her some type of message – in the app – that tells her you are there so she knows to get out at that moment," Alexis states, scooping out blocks of ice cream.

"That's actually pretty brilliant," Jordan states aloud, thinking through what she has heard.

"How am I supposed to write an app for cell phones?" Castle states, looking back and forth from Jordan to Alexis.

"Castle," Kate laughs, "You live in the middle of the damn silicon valley – and you've told me that a few of the executives who have poured money into The Castles head up software companies out here."

Castle stops for a moment, and sits down. "Duh," is all he can manage, taking a pull of the sweet red wine from his glass.

A few minutes later, Alexis is back upstairs. Half an hour later, wine has been replaced with Rocky Road, much to Tom's delight. The four adults sit on the couch, and things have quieted down, the somber mood returning as the wine has dulled the atmosphere.

"I wonder how old she was? What did she look like? What dreams did have for herself?" Castle finds himself wondering aloud.

"Did she have children?" Jordan asks.

"Who will tell her parents?" Kate wonders, and Castle looks at her, understanding her line of thinking.

"I wonder who is the next Penny Zimmerman . . ." states Tom. All three glance at him, nod their heads and sit back into a spoonful of ice cream.

A half hour later, everyone has retired to their rooms. Tom and Jordan have the downstairs guest room, while Kate showers in her room upstairs. She doesn't realize it until she steps out of the shower, wrapping the small towel around damp hair, but her eyes are stinging, and red from crying in the shower. She is surprised that the unknown woman's death affects her so much.

She dries off with the large beach towel hanging next to the shower, and then puts on her matching pajama bottoms and button up top – with I-LOVE-NY emblems plastered across the matching set. She sits on the edge of the tub, touching up the red polish on her toenails, and then unwraps the towel on her head.

As she dries her hair with the hair dryer Castle has thoughtfully provided in the guest room, her thoughts return to the murdered woman back in the city. She had been so close to freedom, so close to getting out, only to be snatched away at the last moment. She can understand why it has affected Castle so much. She knows that he has changed, she knows that he has grown in so many ways. But she also knows that deep down, Richard Castle is a decent man, an idealistic man. And she knows in his world, in his vision of this world he is creating, death doesn't win. Death doesn't happen. He has built – literally – a Camelot of Castles to ensure death doesn't win.

And she knows he is feeling guilty right now. It's not his fault, and he shouldn't be blaming himself. But she knows him. The laughter, the banter, the jokes could not hide it from her. She knows him at least this well.

Hair dried, she walks into her room from the bathroom, and heads out the door, down the hallway to Castle's room. She hears Jenna's giggling from Alexis' room next to hers, and smiles. The innocence of youth – one taken from her all those years ago . . .

She shakes those thoughts away.

"_Tonight is not about me,"_ she thinks to herself.

She is about to knock on Castle's door, when she hears it. Perhaps she hears it because it is laughter she has just heard stepping out from her room. But as she walked down the upper stairway to Castle's room, the laughter died away to be replaced by silence . . . and the soft noise she hears as her hand comes up to knock on his door. She pulls her hand to hear chest, as her eyes mist.

Opening the door, silently, she sees him, lying in his bed, covers pulled up, with his back to the door – and to her. If he hears her enter, he does not acknowledge her. She suspects he doesn't hear her, because she hears the sniffle again that caught her ear through the door, a tiny sob caught inside. Paralyzed for a moment, she makes her decision quickly.

She walks – softly – to the other side of the bed. She pulls the pajama trousers off, dropping them at the side of the bed. She unbuttons her pajama shirt quickly, and drops it next to the trousers. Pulling the covers back, she quickly slides into his bed, and her naked skin quickly registers the silk sheets.

"Soon," she promises herself, as she slides next to him, noticing immediately that he has boxers on, but other than that, nothing.

She pulls herself upward so that she is slightly higher than him towards the head of his massive bed, her head over his, and wraps her arm around him, as she snuggles into his back. Her breasts rub against his shoulders, and she whispers soothingly into his ear, listening to the sniffling he is attempting to stifle down with her presence.

He is completely unsuccessful.

A new round of tears fall silently down his cheeks. From her vantage point, the glistening tears sliding off his face are clearly visible. One tear hangs delicately on his nose before dropping to the sheets below.

Not knowing anything else to do, not knowing what to say, she simply opts for what she knows is most true at the moment.

She kisses the back top of his head, stroking his arm.

"I love you, Rick," she whispers, and feels his body begin to shake as the sobs overtake him.


	16. Chapter 16

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 16**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Dec 20, 2011, Tuesday Morning in Sausalito, CA**_

The sunlight is streaming brightly into Richard Castle's eastward facing home in the hills of Sausalito. The brightness hits Kate full in the face, warming her as it wakes her from her slumber. She instinctively pulls her hand up to cover her eyes, blocking the incoming rays.

"I'm sorry. I guess I forgot to close the curtains last night before going to bed."

She turns her head to the foot of the bed – toward his voice - where Castle sits cross-legged, just watching her. Anytime during the past four years she would have considered this totally creepy. Somehow, this morning it is a little less creepy than it normally would be. On second thought, it isn't creepy in the least.

"It's no problem, Castle," she yawns sleepily. "Not the worst way I've ever woken up – not by a long shot."

He smiles, touching – no, rubbing – her foot – his hands on top of the bedspread, her feet snuggly underneath. It was a long night. He thought that he would get to sleep easily, especially once the tears came. Isn't that how he would have written it? Of course it is. He'd shed a few tears and then drift off to sleep – refreshed the next morning and ready to slay dragons.

Except this isn't a book of his, and that's not how last night went, and not how this morning is starting. He doesn't feel like he can slay much of anything right now. It was a long night – made bearable only because of the totally unexpected soothing voice of Kate in his ear, Kate along his hair, Kate mumbling into his shoulder, a kiss planted along his cheek, along his neck, on his shoulder.

For at least an hour before he drifted off, he found great comfort in her words and kisses, softly spoken.

"_I love you, Rick." _

"_Stay strong, Castle."_

"_I'm here, Castle."_

"_I'm with you, Rick."_

Words he had long ago given up hearing from this woman poured so easily into his spirit last night. But they weren't words of passion. They weren't words intended to arouse. They were heartfelt words that he needed to hear, but didn't know it. They were comforting words. She had surprised him. This wasn't the Kate Beckett he had come to know. He is thrilled that he has found 'this Kate' inside her. But his joy is short-lived as the cause of her emotional awakening to him comes back to mind.

Penny Zimmerman.

"Thank you for last night, Kate." The words are spoken so softly she almost misses them, and in fact, were she not staring at his face, watching his lips, she would have missed it.

"That's what partners . . ."

She stops in mid-sentence, because that is not what they are anymore. Nothing has been consummated, and no agreements have been reached. But they are no longer just 'partners' in that sense anymore. She knows that she destroys so much of what was built last night – with honest tears and honest words – if she falls back into their normal banter of "that's what partners do" – and so she corrects herself.

"That's why I am here, Rick. I'm here for you."

"For us?" he asks.

"For us," she corrects herself again.

The smile he manages to give her is one that she will remember for ages. It's not the normal Castle grin or smirk she is used to. There is so much pain and so much hope – all at the same time – in that small smile.

"Kate?"

"Yeah?"

"You're naked under there."

His smile changes a bit – there is a hint of the mischievous writer she has grown to love – and she can't suppress a small giggle.

"Not quite the way I have pictured us naked together," she laughs.

"Well, technically only one of us was naked," he corrects her.

"Mmm hmm" she hums. "Cute boxers, by the way."

"Wait a minute," he stops, startled. "You've pictured us sleeping naked?"

"_Sleeping _naked? No – I can't say we were sleeping," she counters, and closes her eyes as if reliving a very fond memory.

"Oh Beckett, you are an evil woman," he grumbles with a smile, as he pulls himself off the foot of the bed. She misses his warmth along her legs immediately, as he walks into the bathroom. She listens as the water turns on, and she hears him brushing his teeth.

It takes a second for her to realize that he has moved away – out of the room – so that she can get dressed. His chivalry knows no bounds, it seems. She rolls back to her side of the bed. Her side. The thought that she has 'a side of the bed' with him brings a large and loud grin to her face. She pulls herself out of the bed and throws the long-sleeve pajama shirt on, fastening the buttons to her neck. The shirt is long enough to cover her hips, so she just carries the pajama bottoms with her to the bathroom, and sticks her head in through the door.

"I'm going to shower and get dressed," she says.

He looks up into the mirror and sees her standing behind the door, only her head visible, and nods his head. She leaves the door cracked as she walks away, and in the mirror he sees her hips – just barely covered, dammit – swaying back and forth as she walks to the door of his bedroom.

She walks down out of his bedroom down the hallway to her room and takes the top off as she walks into her bathroom, and turns the shower knob to hot. So far this visit to the west coast has been absolutely nothing as she expected. Yet, save for the loss of one life, there is nothing she would change about this trip. She wonders what the day will bring.

Half an hour later, she walks down the staircase towards the kitchen, where Castle is busy fixing bacon and eggs at the stove. Jordan is buttering biscuits that have obviously just come out of the oven and the smell draws her into the kitchen. Tom has just finished preparing a pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice.

"Gosh – nothing left for me to do?" she asks.

"Plates are right here in this cabinet, if you could please," Castle tells her with a smile.

"Hey Kate," Jordan offers as a welcome. "Sleep well?"

Jordan catches the look Kate throws Castle's way. It is a quick glance, but it doesn't go unnoticed by the federal agent – or her husband. They throw a knowing glance at each other, and both smile. And just as quickly, the smiles are gone and they continue on, with the biscuits and juice.

"The girls are still asleep," Castle mentions, "and I don't expect them for a while. But we have enough biscuits and bacon and eggs for Alexis to re-heat for them once they awaken."

Within minutes, the four are at the table in the dining room, overlooking the ocean waters leading toward the bridge in the distance. Are all silent for a moment, and then Tom breaks the silence.

"So, what's on the docket for the morning?" he asks.

"First session with Dr. Peraza for the women at 10. She will repeat it again tonight at 7 for those that are headed to work and can't make the morning session," Castle replies. "Then at 11, Jordan has her first session with them."

"Then again at 8 tonight for those who are working," Jordan adds.

"Sounds like a long night for you, Jordan," Kate offers.

"Yeah, but it's why we are here," she responds. "And it is a sight better than chasing psychopaths," she adds, allowing her head to fall briefly on her husband's shoulder, who sits next to her.

"Amen to that," Kate agrees, taking a mouthful of bacon. She notices the affection between the two, and idly wonders – not for the first time – how they do it. How do they mix her harsh profession with his highly stressful work in the operating room – and then still find the strength to love as deeply as they obviously do.

Her thoughts are interrupted by Castle, who is still outlining the day out loud, still answering her original question.

"After lunch, we have open sessions – we will invite anyone who wants to talk or just have some company to hang out. We might walk the grounds, or just stay in – it will be up to them. Mike and Lindy, Dawn and Colin will be there to help."

"Not sure how many of these women are going to want to talk with Mike or Colin," Jordan offers.

"You're probably right, but who knows," he agrees. Looking toward Kate, he continues. "I was hoping you might be available if any of them wants –"

"Count me in," she interrupts. "It's why I'm here."

He smiles, remembering their brief conversation this morning in his bedroom, and more, remembering last night.

The rest of the meal is filled with small talk, as each of them find themselves lost in their own thoughts. Castle risks an occasional glance at Kate, who offers smiles in return.

The meal done, the dishes sit in the dishwasher loaded by the four, and Castle wipes his hands on the kitchen towel.

"Well, we've delayed enough," he jokes, pulling his coat on and heading toward the door. Jordan falls in line behind him. Kate follows behind, with Tom just behind her. They all walk to the car parked in the circular driveway. Castle opens his driver's side door, and turns to Kate, taking her hand and pulling her close.

"I know this isn't necessarily what you signed up for when you –" but is interrupted by the detective.

"This is exactly why I am here, Rick. This is precisely what I signed up for. I knew this wasn't vacation."

"I know, but I desperately want you to enjoy your time here, Kate."

She looks away for a few seconds, and when her gaze returns to him, her eyes are misty.

"Last night, Rick. I hate what happened yesterday, and I hate how you felt last night. But if I could lay with you every night I am here like last night, I am happy. Believe me when I say that."

Yet again, he is struck by this 'new and different Kate'. He draws her into a long hug, before she pulls away just enough to lift herself on her toes to reach his lips. When their lips connect, she smiles as she hears a soft moan escape from the back of his throat. She pulls away a few seconds later, but her gaze never leaves his eyes. They are so blue . . . so blue.

"Do you remember what I told you last night, Rick?" she asks.

He glances downward immediately, and just as quickly she places her hands on his cheeks, lifting his gaze back to hers.

"Do you remember what I told you?"

"Yes," he manages.

"What did I say to you?"

"What?"

"Tell me. I want to hear you say it. I want _**you**_ to hear you say it."

He looks down again, and once again her hands are on the sides of his face, bringing his eyes back to hers. He wants to look away again, but the smile on her face – small and soft – holds him in place.

"You told me you loved me."

"And what else?" she asks, imploring him to continue with her eyes as much as her words.

"You told me you are here for me."

She leans back up to his lips, and slowly runs her tongue along his lips, never closing her eyes, watching him the entire time. It takes seconds, but seems like an eternity. Then she leans into his left ear and whispers.

"I meant every word."

She leaves him standing there as she walks back up the walkway to the front door. When she gets to the door she looks back. He is still standing there, car door open. Looking at her. There is no smile on his face. Instead is a look she has never seen before. It's not happy. It's not sad. She cannot place it. He has never looked so beautiful to her.

Then she gazes at Jordan and Tom, who are on the other side of the car, locked in a passionate kiss. She stares for a few seconds, then feels wildly uncomfortable as their kiss continues. She wonders yet again how they do it. How do they mix such tragedy with family – and keep it normal? And just what in the hell is normal, anyway?

She looks back at Castle, whose gaze has followed hers to the couple kissing just across the car from him. He returns her gaze, and this time there is a smile – a hopeful smile painted across his face – and just as quickly, he slides into the car and turns the engine on.

"That's my cue," Jordan whispers to her husband, who only smiles.

"Come back to me," he says softly with a smile.

"Without fail," she smiles back as she climbs into the car with Castle.

Seconds later they drive away. Castle keeps his eyes forward, watching the road ahead but his mind is hundreds of yards behind them, back at the front step.

"How do you do it, Jordan?" he asks.

"Do what?"

"Stay in love. Establish normalcy amidst all the chaos in your life?"

"Oh, Castle," she smiles. "It's not as hard as you think."

"Jordan," he states with emphasis. "I am twice divorced, a single father, and in love with a woman who has walls built upon walls. It is absolutely as hard as I think."

Smiling, Jordan reaches over and touches his shoulder.

"Oh Rick, we _**do**_ need to talk," she laughs.

At the same time, Tom Shaw has made his way to the front door, and Kate Beckett stands there waiting for him. Ironically, she has the same question for Jordan's husband.

"Do you have a few minutes for a walk, Tom?" she asks.

"Sure," he responds, touching her arm and guiding her off the short steps of the house back to the driveway.

"Let's head to the wooded area in the backyard," he offers her. A minute later they are in the back yard, heading west toward the trees on the seven acre plot that makes up Castle's residence. They walk in silence for a minute before Kate begins.

"How do you and Jordan do it?"

"Do what?" he asks.

"Find normalcy. How do you keep the passion? How do you stay in love with everything you both have going on?"

His chuckle disarms her a bit.

"No, Tom. I'm serious. I know she has a work life every bit as tough as mine, if not worse. Jenna thinks she slays dragons, for crying out loud. The things I know she sees . . . How do you two do this?"

"That is a strange question, indeed, Kate."

She stops walking, and he stops with her. The look in her eyes tells him this is a serious point with her. And Jordan has told him enough about Kate for him to realize that she is struggling mightily with the closeness developing between Castle and her.

"You're asking how love can bloom in the midst of darkness?"

"Wow," she smiles nervously. "That's a response I'd expect from a writer, not a surgeon."

He smiles, as he touches her arm, tugging them back into motion.

"Can I ask you a question, Kate?" Tom asks, kicking a pine cone off to his left as they walk down the leaf-covered pathway leading from the back yard toward the open woods area behind Castle's house.

"Sounds ominous," she replies.

"It's not really ominous," he chuckles, "although it may prove a little more difficult to answer than you might suspect."

Now he really has her attention – and naturally, just because of who she is – her guard is up.

"Go ahead," she allows him.

"How much do you care for Castle?" he asks.

She stops walking – her hands in her coat pocket – as she stares at the man – until yesterday a stranger only known to her via phone and video chats with his wife. She studies him briefly, as she ponders her answer. It's not really a difficult question, but these are the types of questions that stump her, that cause her to pause and stumble.

It's an easy question really.

Her thoughts are interrupted by Tom's low chuckle. She has been staring right through him while considering her answer.

"I'm in love with him."

"That's not what I asked, Detective." He's friendly, but firm. There is no malice, no sarcasm, nothing unfriendly by his statement, or the gaze he gives her. But it is unsettling nonetheless.

"How much do you care for him?"

"I just said I'm in love with him. I'd think that is pretty self-explanatory," she counters.

Again, Tom Shaw chuckles, and now his demeanor is a bit disconcerting for Kate. Clearly he is going somewhere with this, and it is just as clear that she is very much in the dark.

"Love is so subjective these days, Kate," he offers as a way of explanation. Seeing no connection developing in her eyes, he continues, explaining further.

"It's a word that really doesn't mean what it should mean anymore. We use it so casually, so frequently, and often about things – not people. I love this Italian food. I love that reggae music. Oh, I just love gardenias – they smell so fresh. Gosh, I've always wanted a Challenger - I've loved muscles cars since I was a teenager."

He is smiling as he gives her the last example, and now she is nodding her head knowingly, with a bit of a smirk on her face as acceptance.

"So when we say "I love you", sometimes it means an awful lot, and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it carries the weight of always being connected and cherished. But sometimes it's no deeper than a fast food burger."

"I do _love_ a good burger," she laughs, emphasizing the word 'love", and Tom laughs with her, and they continue walking towards the woods.

"So again, I ask you – how much do you care for Castle?" he asks again. "Where is he on your list of priorities? Where is he on your daily menu of things to do, of people to see? Is he somewhere after a good coffee, a nice meal, a morning walk?"

"I'm not sure I understand, Tom," she admits, now very interested in where he is going with this.

"I cherish every moment, every second that I am with Jordan," he says. He is giving her a free, open-book look into his reality of love.

"She is gone more than Jenna or I would like, of course," he continues. "And sometimes when she comes home, I'm stuck at the hospital. That's our life – we chose this."

Kate nods in understanding.

"But when she is home, when we are together, we are _**together**_. Everything else takes a back seat. And not because it is what I want – but because it is what Jordy wants as much as I do."

Kate has to smile at the affectionate nickname he has given his wife.

"I've never seen her as a "Jordy" type of person," Kate offers with a chuckle.

"Tommy and Jordy", he laughs, and she joins him. "Not how my hospital peers see me, and certainly not how her FBI colleagues see her. Even Jason sees her as "Jordan".

"How is Agent Avery these days, anyway?" she asks.

"Doing well – getting married this spring."

"I did not know that – I'm happy for him," Kate responds, genuinely fond of the FBI agent. His loyalty to Jordan – and her subsequent deference to him on multiple occasions reminds her of her interactions with Castle.

"Anyway, as I was saying," Tom continues. "Jordy makes every moment she has with us count. So we don't have a lot of outside friends that we hang with – simply because we make the most of every moment. Her time with you – in fact – on video calls has been as much as I have seen her socialize outside of family."

Kate nods again, taking this information in – and still wondering where Tom is going with this. He can tell she's not there yet, and so he finally comes clean.

"You and Rick will always suffer – always – because he is not first in your life. I don't know – from what Jordan has said – that he is even second or third. "

"What?" she interrupts, and is ready to counter when he raises he hand, asking for more time.

"Hold on, Kate – please, just hear me out," he asks, waiting for her to step back for a moment. He likes her feisty nature – it reminds him of his wife.

"Your mother's murder, your mother's case. Your job at the NYPD. Your boyfriend, the cop, then the surgeon – I don't know his name."

He pauses for effect. "Where does Castle fit in, in all of that? Is he #2? Is he #3? Is there something else I have left out?"

They have both stopped walking again – and Tom wanders over to a small bench, carved out of a large tree stump and sits. Kate walks towards him, but doesn't sit – instead, she looks off toward the trees. The insects are busy this afternoon – surprising in their noise.

"Jordan and I are married because I asked her and she said yes. But we are _**happily**_ married because whenever we are together, I am #1 with her, and she is #1 with me. Obviously we have Jenna – but you get my drift. There is no unsolved case coming between us – although there are plenty of unsolved cases she deals with. There are no people coming between us. If you asked me how much I care about Jordan, I would tell you 'more than anything and anyone in the world.'"

He pauses again, letting her consider this.

"Kate – is Castle more important to you than anything and anyone in the world?"

She looks back toward Tom, nervously biting her lip, searching for the truth in herself. Before she can answer, Tom finishes.

"When you can say 'yes' to that question, Kate – then this whole concept of raising a family while finding killers, this whole idea of being a wonderful wife and mother while chasing horrible people – all of the sudden this is easy. All of the sudden, there is no conflict – because you've decided what – or who – is most important, and that is where we invest our time, our emotions, our treasures."

He smiles at her again, drawing a small smile from her in the process.

"When Castle is the most important thing in your life – being in a family with him, raising a family with him, that doesn't become a difficult thing for you to do; it becomes the only thing you make time to do. You're just not there yet."

"Tom, you don't know that –"

"Yes, I do, Kate," he says softly. "Because I have asked you three times now, and you have yet to answer."

"It's not that simple –"

"Yes it is, Kate. Do you think Jordan was always the most important thing for me? I've spent my adult life chasing knowledge of cardiology for the greater good. I have devoted my adult life to being the best surgeon I can be. And when I lose patients – it tears at me in ways that I can't explain. And Jordy? You know the law enforcement profession. You know what it is like to be a driven, focused woman in that world. Do you think that I was always her number one focus with that world she lives in?"

Kate smiles, offering a weak "I see" towards him.

"Jordan and I were married, but still a work in progress until she became top priority for me, and I became top priority for her. That moment – when we both were on that same page – we clicked in a way that I can't describe for you. And that moment will come for you and Castle, Kate – I believe it will, based upon how Jordy describes the two of you. But that moment is fickle, it flirts with us. Sometimes you have to grab it, take it by force. Sometimes you have to fight for each other as hard and rough as you fight the bad people you chase."

"You and Dr. Burke would get along just fine," Kate snickers.

"Dr. Burke?"

"My shrink."

"Ahh. Well, he heals heads. I heal hearts."

"That's deep, Dr. Shaw," she says mockingly, but still in a friendly banter.

"Seriously. I work with human beings, and sometimes their hearts stop. Sometimes their hearts give up and can't take anymore. Their hearts die. I fight to get those hearts re-started. Sometimes I put new hearts in their place. But trust me, Kate –"

He is standing now, and has walked towards her and is touching her arm, turning her towards him.

"Trust me, Kate – when you see enough hearts die, you realize how damn fleeting this thing called life really is. You begin to understand that every moment is important, because that next moment isn't promised to us."

He notices her hand move upward towards her chest, and remembers how Jordan told him Kate Beckett spent her summer.

"You understand about hearts dying – about hearts stopping, Kate."

She looks at him, eyes fiercely blazing. He has stepped over the line now, and is in uncharted waters with a wounded prey – a dangerous prey. He diffuses it with a simple acknowledgement.

"Your moments aren't promised to you, Kate. What do you want to do with the rest of your moments – moments that have been given back to you."

He starts walking deeper into the woods. He turns and calls her to follow. A few seconds later, she steps into line with him, as they walk further away from the house into the natural beauty of the wooded grounds, moving further from the ocean.

"That's how you manage career, obsession and family, Detective" he says affably. "You make the most of those family moments – and you make as many of them as you can – everything else be damned."

They walk for a few more minutes, in silence. The insects of the woods quiet down as they approach, and then resume their songs as they pass by and continue deeper. Tom's words are dancing in her head with every step. She wonders if she is ready to make Richard Castle her number one priority. She wonders if Tom is correct, and if that is even necessary. She wonders why she has never thought of this herself.

Tom interrupts her thoughts.

"What I am going to say, Kate, is going to sound sexist, and selfish, and so many other things," he begins. She wonders where he is going to take this discussion now, with a preamble like that.

"Disclaimer accepted?" he asks.

"Accepted," she smiles as they continue walking.

"Let's say that Richard Castle _**is**_ your top priority." He lets that sit.

"Okay," she says.

"He's your number one priority."

"Okay," she repeats.

"Nothing and no one is more important to you."

"Again, okay," she replies, this time a bit more testily.

He chuckles out loud. "So in less than two weeks, you are getting on a plane and heading back to New York."

He doesn't say anything else, and so she stops walking, and stops him as well. She offers at him a questioning look, with palms upraised. So he continues.

"You're going to New York, and you will jump back into your work, with your colleagues, with your cases, with your life in New York."

"Yes, that's the plan," she replies, now seeing where this is going.

"Why?" he asks. "I thought we just agreed that Richard Castle is your top priority. It doesn't look that way."

"You would expect me to give up my life, to uproot everything . . . to forget about finding my mother's -"

She stops herself in mid-sentence, just thinking about her quest for justice for her mother, and just dropping her efforts to solve that case.

"That's not fair, Tom," she says flatly.

"I know," he replies.

"What?"

"I know it isn't fair," he states again.

"Then why-"

"That's the thing, Kate. You think it should be fair. You want it to be fair. You are looking for fair. But that's not the way things work. You have a job because things aren't fair. Is it fair that kids are orphaned when their parents are killed? Is it fair when women are raped and left for dead? Is it fair when young boys are abused by their dads? Your job _exists_ because things aren't fair!"

She opens her mouth to respond, but is interrupted as Tom continues on. He is no longer facing her. His gaze is deep into the woods, looking upward at the treetops that block the sunlight.

"I have a job because things aren't fair. Hearts stop beating. Arteries get clogged. People get shot. They come to my table for a myriad of reasons, and not one of them is fair. But those moments shouldn't define us. They shouldn't define our lives, our choices."

He turns back, facing the detective, and places both hands on her shoulders. The contact is startling, as is the intensity of the gaze he now gives her.

"When your love is so strong, when you care for him so much, that you would drop everything – leave everything – to come here and be with him, _then_ this gets easier. _Then_ you will find how this can really work."

"But why should I be the one to drop everything?" she asks, and he can see in her confusion that it isn't a selfish question, but an honest one. So he gives her an honest response.

"Because it's what he has already done."

"What?"

"Think about it."

"I'm sorry, Tom, you've lost me here."

He takes his hands away from her shoulders, and begins walking again.

"Walk with me," he says.

They fall in line, walking side by side, and she is about to stop and pursue the conversation when he finally continues.

"Castle loved you so much, Kate, that he needed to get over his love for you. And the only way he could do that was to drop everything. His home. His cars. His summer home. His writing, for God's sake, Kate. His mother. His lifestyle. Everything. He uproots his daughter. All for you. All for love. All to get away from love."

"He-"

"He could have built his women's shelter in New York. It would have been easier. With his contacts, raising money would have been a snap. The only reason he built it here was because of love, Kate. To escape from love."

Her mind is in full stride now, considering his words, totally rejecting his words, wondering if his words have any validity, finding guilt in his words.

"The fair thing, Kate, would be for him to move back to New York. The fair thing would've been for him never to have left. The fair thing, Kate, would be for you to drop New York and join him here. Who in the hell knows what the fair thing is, Kate. But life isn't fair. Hearts stop beating. Arteries clog. People get shot, mugged, assaulted. Our moments are not promised to us."

She offers him a small smile. She doesn't agree with everything he has presented, but she certainly understands the logic behind his words.

"Again, I ask you, Kate. How much does Castle mean to you?"

He laughs as he asks the question, and then turns and guides her back, as they begin to retrace their steps. She again falls in step alongside him, but is quiet. He gives her the quiet she needs, and neither says a word as they make their way back to the house. The silence is louder than a stadium filled with thousands of fans. Her mind wanders with seemingly hundreds of images, each a real memory shared with a certain Richard Castle.

"_I love you, Rick"_ she remembers herself saying. _"I am here for you, Rick,"_ she said to him last night. _"Kate, don't leave me. I love you, Kate. I love you,"_ she hears him say as she lays in the grass in the cemetery, her eyes glazing past him as his deep blue eyes begin to blend in with the blue sky beyond. She remembers the fear in her heart, when she felt her heart was stopping as the bank exploded, and she is back running inside, dreading what awaits her. She considers how her heart literally flutters when they do nothing more than hold hands. She is back outside the Cliff House, standing with him facing the ocean, recalling her college dreams. Her mind races with these images as she and Tom walk in silence.

Twenty minutes later, they reach the clearing that opens up to the back yard of Castle's residence.

"I wonder if the girls are awake," Tom asks aloud, breaking the silence.

"Everything," she says, completely ignoring Tom's statement. He stops and stares at her with a small smile.

"He means everything to me."


	17. Chapter 17

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 17**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Dec 20, 2011, Lunch at The Castle's Complex in Sausalito**_

Richard Castle sits at the small table along the expansive window in the dining area, taking in the view of the scenic wooded area just beyond the safe homes on the complex, picking at a bowl of clam chowder. He is lost in thought and doesn't register Jordan Shaw pulling up the chair next to him and sitting down with her bowl of soup and sourdough bread slices. She finds him staring out the large, floor-to-ceiling window.

"I'd say penny-for-your-thoughts, but I don't think it's nearly enough," she smiles, startling him as he flips and drops his spoon on the table.

"Cripes, Jordan, give a guy some warning," he says, not playfully but not angrily either.

"Okay, next time I will call out when I am twenty feet away and approaching. Will that work?" she counters, still smiling.

"That will work perfectly, thank you," he states affably. Picking up his spoon, his takes a noisy slurp of chowder, receiving an amusing smirk from the federal agent.

"You have been acting funny all morning, Castle. What's up?"

He points across the room to Dr. Samantha Peraza, who sits with two of the new residents of the complex. One of the women – he thinks her name is Heather – is in a highly animated chat with Dr. Peraza and the second woman, whose name currently escapes him.

The morning session with Dr. Peraza went spectacularly, from his vantage point, for the women in attendance. There were roughly seven women in the session, as the remaining women have gone to work. Two of the seven are now sitting for lunch at the table across the room with Dr. Peraza. Two others, Shannon and Jackie, are sitting together at another table, next to the soda machine. Neither of these two women appear to be speaking, but at least they are finding some level of comfort and camaraderie with each other. The other three women from the session are not in sight. He can only assume they are back at their 'homes' for lunch.

"I've been thinking about what Samantha said this morning," he says, matter-of-factly.

She smiles at his first-name reference to the good doctor, and reminds herself that Samantha and Rick are old college friends. It truly is a world of "who you know", she thinks to herself. It doesn't escape her that this is why she is here, herself.

"She said an awful lot this morning, Rick," Jordan states. "You're going to have to be a little more specific than that."

He smiles at Jordan – a small but genuine smile. Not only did Dr. Peraza's session go well, but Jordan's session afterward with the women went far better than Castle could have hoped or expected. Both Samantha's and Jordan's no-nonsense approach seems to be exactly what these women need at this time in their lives. As if further proof is needed, he catches the two women at the table glancing at Jordan – unbeknownst to her – with knowing, appreciative smiles.

"Earth to Castle," he hears Jordan mimic, and smiles again.

"I'm sorry Jordan. Just a lot to take in this morning. From Dr. Peraza, from you. From Kate."

"Ah, yes, our favorite detective is never far from your mind. I should have known," Jordan snickers, drawing a small, fake pout from Castle. A moment later, the pout is gone, his eyes glaze over again, and poof – he is gone again.

"Okay, Castle, out with it," Jordan orders. "What's on your mind."

"Where do I start?"

"Hell, I don't know. You're the writer. Where _does_ one start?"

"You are a good friend, Jordan."

"That I am. Now quit stalling."

"Pushy, pushy. I don't know how Tom handles you," Castle smiles.

"Oh he handles this quite well, Castle," she smiles back. "Now out with it."

His laughter – the first time she has heard a real laugh from him since yesterday late afternoon – is a joy to hear. She gives herself a small chuckle and is ready to press him yet again, but he finally acquiesces and starts talking in earnest.

"What Samantha said," he begins. "About living a life based upon principles, not rules. I've never heard it put that way. I've never thought about it like that."

"I suspect that most of the young women this morning have never heard it put quite so succinctly either," Jordan allows.

"Can it really be that simple?" he asks. "Do we really make life so complicated, and it can be that easy?"

"Yeah, I think so, Castle," is all Jordan gives him. And she shuts up, leans over the table to take a bite of sourdough bread, her silence and actions telling him that he's going to have to continue carrying the conversation.

"Kate would have really-"

"Don't make this about Kate, Castle," Jordan interrupts, catching a few crumbs of bread that trickle from her lips as she talks. "Not yet, at least."

"You're right," he offers. "But –"

"Not yet, Castle," she interrupts again.

His resigned smile brings another chuckle to Jordan's lips. She takes a quick swig of water from the glass on the table. Her raised eyebrow tells him to continue.

He stares out the window and the trees in the distance. He is immediately taken back to Dr. Peraza's session. He's glad he recorded it because there was so much there that he took in for himself – not just for the women who are there. He saw a lot of truth in his old friend's words that are relevant for him – right now.

"_Start with a principle,"_ she had said. He fumbles with the iPhone in his hands, sliding the bar to the spot he is searching for at the four minute mark, as he had marked during the session, and rewinds a bit from there. He hits PLAY, and Jordan leans in to watch and listen.

"_Life gets difficult for us because it throws a lot of situations at us – every day. Sometimes it throws us fast balls. Other times curve balls. But ladies, we are in life's batter's box every day. There is no break. There is no respite. And each of these situations demands a response from us. Each situation demands a decision. And rest assured, no action, no decision is a decision all in itself."_

"I have to admit," Castle begins, "I thought she was going to lose them right then and there. I couldn't believe she would start out so strong right out of the gate."

"I know, Rick, but think about it," Jordan counters. "Think of where these women are right now. They don't _need _pussy-foot, kid gloves. They need the truth, and they need it square in the eyes right now. Not tomorrow. Not next week. If she sugar-coated this, she does them an injustice."

He nods his head in agreement, and hits PLAY again. They both lean in together to watch and listen.

"_Now here is the bad news, ladies. None of us – not you . . . not you . . . or you . . . and not even me – none of us are equipped to have to make these decisions every day, all day. It's just too much. We aren't built that way – yet life seems to throw so much at us. That's where principles come in."_

There is a pause in the recording, where the good doctor evidently paused for a few seconds, to let this sink in. Then Castle remembers the slide she switched to before she continued.

It was a slide that showed an inverted pyramid, with the word 'PRINCIPLES' at the larger, top base of the triangle. In the next block underneath, the word 'RULES' took up a block. Then finally at the bottom, the pointed end of the inverted triangle had the word 'DECISIONS' inside.

"_Principles trump everything else. Think of a deck of cards. Principles are the ace in the deck, ladies. And there are only four aces in the deck. There are 52 cards, but only 4 aces. Aces are principles. So that means you don't have to have many principles. You don't need them. You only need a few. But it all starts with principles. It all starts with one principle."_

There is another pause, and then the recording continues.

"_Watch this, ladies. I establish a belief, a truth for my life. That truth is that I will never stay in a relationship with a man who physically abuses me. That's my line in the sand. That's my principle, ladies. Now, there are no caveats to a principle. There are no 'what-if' contingencies with a principle. There are no back-room contingencies with your principle. A principle is your Rock of Gibraltar, your Mount Everest. It is black and white, yes or no, on or off. Let me stop here . . . is this clear to all of us in this room?"_

Jordan chuckles – drawing a similar chuckle from Castle – as they both remember heads nodding, some in a very animated fashion, others more subtly. But Dr. Peraza looked every woman in the eye before continuing - including Jordan.

The stunner, for Castle, however, was that she looked at Rick as well. And she held his gaze until he nodded his head as well before she continued.

"_So if a 'No Physical Abuse Relationship' is my principle, my rock of stone that cannot be shattered, cannot be shaken, cannot be broken . . . then let me ask you . . . what __**rules**__ am I willing to place on my life, what __**rules**__ am I willing to submit myself to in order to __**ensure**__ I live a life where this principle trumps everything else?"_

Another pause follows, and Castle and Jordan are now huddled together, heads almost touching, staring down at the recorded video. The sound is low so that they won't disturb anyone else, and fortunately, the others are sitting in tables far enough away so that their viewing is indeed, private for them.

"_That, my friends, is the purpose of rules in our life. Or at least, that is what the purpose of rules __**should**__ be in our lives. Rules should exist only to ensure we live the principle-based life we say that we want for ourselves. That's why you place rules upon yourself. The Golden Principle, the Golden Rule if you will, is that I will treat others the way I want to be treated. Now, I don't want anyone to kill me, or steal from me, or lie to me, so I won't do any of those things to someone else. You can see how those rules aren't meant to bind us, but meant to liberate us, to free us."_

Castle smiles again, recalling that he had never heard the Golden Rule described in such a pragmatic fashion, and this from a man who spent countless hours in church as a young boy.

"_Once the principle is in place, trust me, I want rules. I need rules. Rules that say if a man hits me, I am gone. Rules that say if a man even raises his hand to hit me, I am gone. Rules that say if a man grabs me to shake me to make a point, I am gone. We place these rules upon ourselves to support the over-riding principle. And make no mistake, ladies. These rules will get you into trouble with your friends. With your family. With anyone you share these rules with. Because we are taught to be a tolerant society. We are taught to embrace diversity. We are taught to forgive. Well, let me tell you – and if you don't hear anything else I say this morning – hear this. Tolerance, diversity, forgiveness – these are all wonderful traits, they are fantastic ideals, but they mean nothing in an abusive relationship. They do not belong in an abusive relationship. These are ideals that the wolves of this world take advantage of, and twist to their own liking. They cannot be allowed to do this. If you allow this, ladies, then don't complain. You cannot complain about those things that you allow."_

There is another pause, and Castle and Jordan – heads still together – glance upward at each other, nodding and smiling in agreement. They both recall glancing at the women in the room after Dr. Peraza said these words, and noticed the heads nodding in agreement. They also noticed the tears on the cheeks of a few women. And the clenched hands in anger, as heads nodded.

"_That is why I am so proud, so thrilled, for each of you who are here this morning. Because each of you – if you are here – and you are – that means each of you made the decision to run. To get out. You could have stayed, and complained, and justified, and made excuses. But no – you are strong women. Running does not make you weak. Sometimes the strongest, smartest, wisest, safest decision you can make is to just move your feet and go. You are strong human beings who made the decision to get out. And that is what you have to do. You see, that's the secret, ladies. You establish a principle in your life. Then you place rules upon yourselves to support that singular principle. Now, once you've done this? Heck, ninety-five percent of all of your decisions are already made for you. You don't have to sit and struggle with 'do I do this', or 'do I do that', or 'what do I do?' Those decisions are already made for you if you have established a principle in your life, and placed rules upon yourself to govern yourself. But if you don't . . ."_

There is another pause, and she continues.

"_If you don't . . . then every situation demands you to assess and decide. Every curve ball life throws at you becomes a mental battle you must fight each and every time. Principles change that. A man hits you, you leave. You don't think about it. That decision has already been made. A man raises his hand to you, you leave. There is no decision. That decision has already been made. And if you have this conversation with your husband, with your boyfriend, and he still tries to physically abuse you? Then you know you are in bed with a wolf. And wolves don't cuddle with sheep. They kill sheep. So do not question the decision you have made to leave, to come here to this complex. You have made the right decision. Now – what we want to do over the next few months, is help each of you – each of us – to find those two or three principles – those vital few rocks – that we want to build upon."_

Castle turns the recording off, and puts his phone away. He glances at Jordan, and offers a small smile before looking off into the trees yet again. Jordan knows where his mind is right now. But she also knows he needs to process this himself. Her words will only interrupt a process that he has to navigate through on his own.

"Am I being a fool, Jordan?"

She doesn't answer him. Instead, she bends forward to take another swallow of her clam chowder soup, and fills her mouth with another piece of bread, smiling.

For his part, he sees what she is doing, and offers a small smile back.

"Can't tell you how helpful you are being right now," he says, and she chuckles.

"Everything seems so good with Kate and I right now," he begins. He thinks about last night, and the night before. Things are going so well between he and Kate.

"And last night . . . last night was . . . last night she was the most beautiful, loving, caring person I have ever met. And no, I don't mean sex. We didn't go there. I just mean that I was in a dark place, and she was there for me. She was my flashlight. She was my candle . . ."

"But ?" Jordan asks, knowing where he is going.

"But in the past, she has caused me so much pain, Jordan . . . so much pain." He shakes his head, and takes a swallow of the ice water in front of him.

"She has lied to me . . . and I don't mean the kind of lie you tell to protect someone, the kind of white lie you tell to shield someone. I mean the vicious, premeditated kind that hurts . . . that hurts bad."

Jordan doesn't say anything. Not yet. She knows he has to work his way full circle. She knows this. She is quickly reminded of a similar conversation that she and Tom had early on – a conversation that solidified their relationship early when it easily could have destroyed it. A conversation that she has long known Castle and Kate would have to have. The irony that he is having this conversation with her instead of Kate is not lost on her. She'll have to help him see this, as well.

"And I thought I was past it all," he continues. "No, I really think I am. I am past it all. I have forgiven her, and moved on past it. But that's the point, isn't it? Should I have done that? Should I have forgiven her? Was that a mistake? What if Kate is . . . what if . . ."

He looks away again, and is startled when Jordan's hand touches his, pulling his eyes to hers.

"Finish, Rick. It's important."

His gaze is drawn back to the trees, escaping her scrutiny, trying to escape this conversation, but she does not give him that out this time.

"Rick . . ."

"What if she is a wolf, Jordan? And if she is, can you blame her? Her mother is murdered. The cops sweep it under the rug. Her dad finds the bottle, so he's no help. Her mentor on the force was involved in the cover-up. Can you blame her? She goes from relationship to relationship, dropping each when it suits her, before it can hurt her. And she did it with me. Said she didn't remember. Said some things are better not remembered. Told me she'd call me . . ."

His hands are rubbing lines in his face now, and an exasperated look is painted across his face.

". . . she dropped _me_."

Jordan wants so badly to re-paint these lines on his face, to give him relief. She knows he has to find his way back, and he's so close . . . so close. A little tug may be all he needs. So she gives that little tug.

"Rick," she says, waiting for him to look her way.

"Rick."

He glances up at her, and the look on his face is so pained, so anguished – and she can tell that he is feeling so guilty about what he is thinking.

"Rick – there are two kinds of people in the world. There are wolves, and there are sheep," she tells him. He glances away and so she forcefully pulls him back with her words.

"Rick! Look at me," she states, almost too loudly to keep the conversation private, and finally he complies.

She knows people, and her role as a profiler has taught her to see people clearly, and quickly. She wants to give him just a small nugget this afternoon, something for him to chew on. Something to give him the hope she knows he needs.

"There are wolves, and there are sheep. Some people are sheep, who get hurt, who get damaged, and have to act like wolves to protect themselves. Other people are wolves, who act like sheep, in order to get close to a sheep, to deceive a sheep, to make the kill easier."

Rick stares at her, and she sees the hope in his eyes, sees the hope screaming out to her.

"Kate is not a wolf, Rick," she gives him. "She is a hurt and damaged sheep that sometimes – maybe too often – puts on the wolf persona to protect herself. But I believe . . . I believe she is moving beyond that now, Rick. I'm not going to lie to you and tell you she is all the way there, because she is not. But here is the thing – whether you are sheep acting like a wolf, or a wolf pretending to be a sheep, you are a pain-causer, you are someone who inflicts tremendous damage. But she is getting there. And you can help her."

"How?" he asks, the hurt spilling over into one word with such force.

"Establish a principle, Rick. Establish a principle."

"Shit, Jordan, it can't be that-"

"Yes, it is, Rick. My God, Rick, did you record that entire session and not hear a word she said?" Jordan asks, and it comes out far more bluntly than she intended. So be it. He needs a push. He had wondered out loud in the car how she and Tom did this, how they managed to battle their own personal demons, yet push those demons away and live a wonderful, fulfilling family life. He needs this push.

"What do you want, more than anything else, Rick?"

"To be with her," he states.

"Well hell, that's not enough, Castle," she replies testily. "You're with her now. You were with her for almost four years. How has that worked for you?"

"You know what I mean, Jordan-"

"No, Rick. I do _not_ know what you mean. Tell me. In your own words. You're a writer, dammit. C'mon, Rick!"

"I want a family with her," he blurts out. "I want her to be with me, to become part of my family. I want to become part of her family. I want her with me, all the time. I don't want anyone to hurt her ever again, and if she does get hurt, I want to be there with her, the whole time, helping her cope, helping her heal."

"So what rules are you willing to put into place for you and Kate to make sure this happens, Rick?" asks a voice from behind him. He turns, startled, to see Dr. Samantha Peraza standing behind his chair. He glances over at the table where she had been sitting, and notices the two other women that were there with her are now gone.

"How long have you been standing there, Samantha?" he asks.

"_My_ question remains the better one, Rick. What rules are you willing to put into place – to discuss with Kate – to make sure that this happens?"


	18. Chapter 18

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 18**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Dec 20, 2011, 9:30pm in Sausalito**_

Richard Castle's mind is racing as fast as the black Ferrari he drives through the winding hills of Sausalito, as he speeds from the safety complex to his hillside home. Kate sits next to him, and she, too, is lost in thought, staring out of the passenger window at the trees whisking by.

Her conversation – earlier this morning - with Tom has proven enlightening. She'd spent the rest of the day with Tom and the girls until the evening sessions. Spending time with Alexis proved invaluable, as she and Castle's daughter seemed to meld hand-in-hand. It has been as close to a mother-daughter interaction that she has had in over a decade; only this time, she is the mother figure and another young lady is the daughter. Surprisingly, it had been a nice, easy day with the fiery red-head.

His conversation with Samantha and Jordan has proven equally enlightening. On one hand, the two women have managed to ease his initial fears about Kate that had resurfaced. She loves him. She has told him this. Just as important, he accepts this now. Samantha and Jordan both have helped him come to the point where he not only embraces this development – he realizes that he deserves it – he realizes that he should feel no guilt about this whatsoever. Of course, there is always another side to balance this joy, and that is the equally enlightening realization that Richard Castle needs to learn how to love in a healthy way. Two divorces and damn near half a decade chasing after this woman have proven one of two things.

One – perhaps he doesn't really know how to love – which includes loving someone and being loved in return.

Two – perhaps he simply has never really been in love until now, and is just now grappling with how in the hell one does this.

Neither option is settling well in his stomach, which is barking ferociously at him at this moment. And it is not the "I am hungry, feed me" kind of barking. This is the "Oh shit, do I even know what I am doing" discussion fighting inside his gut, rendering him a mess.

For both of them, however, sitting in on Dr. Peraza's and Jordan's consecutive evening dinner sessions with the new residents wasn't just enlightening. It was edgy, exhilarating, and more than a little frightening. Even though it was Castle's second time in a day sitting through the sessions, the fact that the love of his life-in-question was sitting next to him, hearing these same things and the same time was . . . crap, he can't even think of a word to describe it. There were times where Kate had been fidgeting like the nine-year old child-on-a-sugar-rush that she has always designated him to be.

The notion of 'principles' was something she gravitated towards. He could tell. Dr. Peraza's belief that the majority of one's decisions are already made for them when that person leads a principle-centered life yielded a hand squeeze from Kate, and a glossy look that told him, yeah, she was getting it.

After the sessions, the team mingled with the residents for a few minutes before taking their leave.

"I'm driving Kate home – we will see you at the house," Castle had said to Jordan and Tom as they made their way out of the building.

"Are you coming, Sam?" he had asked the good doctor, who politely declined.

"It's been a long day, Rick – I hope you don't mind if I just get off my feet. I'll see you here in the morning."

With that, everyone had gone to their cars and headed out. And now, some five to ten minutes later, halfway home, along a dark but scenic stretch, neither Castle or Beckett have uttered a word. But their hands are interlocked, and every few minutes, one gives the other a slight squeeze. Occasionally, he glances down at their entwined hands and smiles.

"You okay?" she asks suddenly, startling him out of his reverie on the winding highway.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," he answers, almost too quickly. He gives her hand a squeeze, and a sideways glance to her face which he finds still staring out the passenger window.

"Glad we ate dinner back there," he continues. "I don't know about you, but I was just thinking about sitting in a restaurant or cooking at home, and to be honest, neither option sounds very appealing right now."

"I know what you mean," she responds, still staring out her window into the distance. "Heavy stuff, tonight."

He knows her well enough to recognize the conflict warring inside that gorgeous head right now, but can't for the life of him pinpoint exactly what that conflict is about. He knows she isn't reconsidering. She can't be doing that, not after the last couple of days. That's too much – and too soon - even for her, he thinks. As if realizing the questions that are battering her companion, she finally looks his way, with a soft smile.

"Have you ever had one of those moments, Castle, where everything you believe, everything you have created for yourself all of the sudden seems . . ."

She stumbles, searching for the word. He looks to her, ready to give her a word or two to finish her sentence, but decides against it. He finds himself highly curious how she will finish this sentence. He knows, instinctively, that how she completes this line of thinking is the beginning of a very important conversation for them – one that likely may last into the wee hours of morning. He's not expecting much sleep this evening.

"I can't even find the word, Castle," she finally states, shaking her head.

"Then I can't tell you if I've had one of those moments, love," he answers, smiling softly.

"Love?" she asks, eyebrows raised.

"Too much?" he asks in return.

"God, no, Castle," she smiles, squeezing his hand yet again. "You've never used that term for me. I like it. I like it very much."

He just smiles as he continues driving. They should be at the house in a few minutes at this pace, and there is no reason to rush this conversation. Alexis is keeping Jenna busy – or vice versa, he thinks with a chuckle. They will probably sit down for a bit with Jordan and Tom before everyone retires to bed. It's been a long day and he cannot wait to get some alone time with Kate. It has been a good day. A very good day, at the complex. The women – and their families in some cases – are settling in nicely. The wariness of yesterday has worn off, due in no small part to the sessions from Samantha and Jordan.

"You know, I am hoping that one of these days – not on this trip of course – but someday you will be leading one or two of these discussions with the ladies back there," he offers.

"I'd like that, too," she replies.

"There is so much you can offer them. So much hope you can share as someone who has . . . as a woman who . . ."

He searches for the right words, which seem to hide from him at this moment.

"Am I that hard to figure out, Castle?" she smiles.

"Figuring you out would take a lifetime, detective," he chuckles.

"Well, no lifetime like the present," she laughs back.

Their banter is easy, it comes so naturally. Even with the hurt and the mistrust, they always seem to fall into a natural rhythm. Not necessarily a good, rhythm, but an easy, natural one.

"Someone who has come back from a hurtful event. Someone who has fought back from a traumatic event," he finally finishes.

"Yeah, but someone who has also allowed that traumatic event to define the rest of her life, Castle," she offers back. "Certainly not the trap we want these women to fall into."

He is struck by her candor, and struck by the fact that she openly recognizes that she has allowed that one event to define her, to define her path. It's something she has hidden behind in the past, with words like 'damaged' and the like. She's openly admitted that she has built walls, but this seems like a bit of a breakthrough. He finds himself wondering just how much today's words from Samantha have hit her. Of course, for now, he knows nothing of her equally deep conversation with Tom earlier in the day.

He wants to comment further, but sees the house up the road as they approach the turn-off into his long driveway.

"Home at last," he comments instead.

"Home at last," she repeats.

Her usage of the word 'home' yields a raised eyebrow from him. She recognizes his reaction to her words, and she simply smiles as he brings the car to a stop in front of the house, and surprises him yet again.

"C'mon, love," she smiles. "Let's get inside.

He smiles as she throws the term of endearment back to him, but any response he can think of is lost in the headlights that pull up behind them as they disembark from the car. Tom and Jordan arrive and pull in right behind Castle's car.

"Long day, Jordan," Kate says to her friend as the FBI agent and her husband exits their rental car.

"Not over yet, I suspect," Jordan smiles, winking back.

"You're probably right," Kate agrees, and she smiles at Tom, who gives her a quick head nod and smile.

"Why do I feel like there is a secret code being shared here and I'm the only one without the decoder ring?" Castle asks the group, as he inserts his house key into the door, ushering everyone inside.

"See?" Kate laughs.

"Nine-year old," Jordan chuckles back.

"I'm right here, you know," Castles offers with a pout. "They do see me, don't they?" he asks towards Tom, who simply raises his hands in surrender as he walks inside.

"Dad!"

Alexis walks up and gives him a huge hug, with Jenna in tow behind her. He cannot help but smile – it's a broad smile – as he watches the younger girl tail his daughter, the younger sister she never had. It's obvious she is relishing the time with Tom and Jordan's daughter.

"Good day, today? Better than yesterday, I hope," she says anxiously.

"Very good day, pumpkin," he replies. "I think we got a lot accomplished there today." He wonders how much of this admission is personal as well as professional, and suspects he will find out shortly.

"We already ate dinner," Alexis continues. "I ordered pizza when you texted that all of you were having dinner at the evening session. And I wish I could tell you that we saved some for you . . ."

"That's okay, Alexis. We ate, and I can only speak for myself, but I'm not sure I can eat another bite of anything tonight," he tells her.

"Second that for me," Kate adds.

"Ditto for us," Jordan agrees. "I think Tom and I are going to turn in early tonight. We want to catch a few sights tomorrow before tomorrow evening's session."

"Can Alexis come with us, Mommy?" Jenna asks, holding onto the older girl's hand.

"That's fine with us, if she wants. She can probably show us a few things not on the tourist roadmap that only you locals know about."

Alexis nods her head with a smile. "I'd like that," she says. "C'mon, Jenna, let's see how Harry gets out of this one."

The two girls head back upstairs to the Harry Potter marathon they began earlier this afternoon with Kate.

"Mind if I take a rain-check, girls?" Kate asks. The smirk from Castle's daughter is all the response she gets, and she takes a quick fake-step towards the two girls, who are now laughing and running up the stairs.

A few minutes later, Jordan and Tom have bid their goodnight to all as well. Kate watches as Castle pours a short glass of Malibu coconut rum over ice cubes.

"That's new."

"Yeah," he responds. "Learned to enjoy this the first month I came out here," he recalls. "Want to try one?"

"Sure, why not. Lots of new things, today."

"Okay, that sounds ominous," he states, just a bit concerned.

"Doesn't have to be ominous, Castle. Just new."

He nods, while pouring a second drink. He hands it to her and lifts his own glass. She responds with her own lifted glass, which clinks with his own.

"To us," she states, with hazel eyes staring deeply into his blues.

"To us," he agrees. "Upstairs?"

"Not yet, if you don't mind," she counters. "Do you mind a fire for a while?"

"Not at all," he states, and they walk to the den area, opening the french doors and stepping down into the sunken room. The plush carpet below looks inviting. She can hardly wait to get out of the boots she wears and wiggle free toes into the dark rug. Castle flips on the wall switch and the gas fire logs come to life, brightening the room just a bit, and bringing immediate heat. They fall – literally – back into the plush brown sofa, barely managing not to spill their drinks.

"It's nice here, Rick."

"Yeah, I love this room."

"Your man-cave?" she laughs.

"Not exactly," he offers, and he leaves it at that. He takes a slow sip of the sweet drink, and lets it flow smoothly down the back of his throat. A low moan escapes from his lips as he leans back, closing his eyes to the day behind him. He sits back in his own darkness for a few seconds before he feels her head on his shoulder, and her body pressed up against his side. A heavy blanket that she has found on the arm of the sofa now covers both of them from the waist down. He hears a soft sigh next to him, and he smiles.

For a few minutes, neither of them says a word. Both are content to let this moment settle, to accept a respite rarely given to them.

"I had an interesting conversation with Tom earlier today," she says, finally breaking the silence.

"Mmm hmm?" he says, questioningly, eyes still closed.

"I was curious . . ."

She pauses, as she doesn't want to break the beautiful peace that has settled atop them. A peace they don't share very often with one another.

"I was curious how he and Jordan manage to have such a wonderful, wonderful family life . . ."

". . . in the midst of the chaos and anguish that is his and her jobs," he finishes for her.

"Wow . . ." is all she can say.

"Yeah, I know," he smiles. He refuses to open his eyes just yet. _"Just a little longer in this nice place,"_ he thinks to himself.

"And then I listened to Dr. Peraza," she offers. She shifts against his shoulder, raising her head and straightening out so that they now sit side-by-side, legs stretched out on top of the ottoman in front of them. Her head falls back against his shoulder, which brings a smile back to his face. He closes his eyes and leans back again.

"Unnecessary," she blurts out.

"What?" he asks, sitting up and turning towards her.

"That's the word I was searching for. Unnecessary. The things I have believed, everything I have created . . ."

She pauses while she takes a drink from her glass. It's a stalling tactic, he knows, as she searches for the words.

". . . all of these stupid walls that I erected. Unnecessary."

"Aren't you being a little tough on yourself," he offers her.

"I didn't say they were unjustified. I didn't say they were there without reason. They were just unnecessary. They _are_ unnecessary," she finishes.

"I'm not sure I follow, Kate," he says softly, leaning back into the comfort of the cushions beneath him.

She leans forward, putting her drink inside the cup holder of the ottoman, and she stands. She walks toward the fireplace, and stands there for a moment, still gathering her thoughts. What she is thinking, what she wants - it has to come out right the first time. She and Castle's relationship – in the past – has been filled with missteps. She wants this next step to be solid, to be unwavering.

She turns from the fireplace, and catches him staring at her. She stands, hands in her pockets, wearing dark jeans and a cream colored cowl neck sweater. Suddenly, she moves back toward the ottoman, stopping on the opposite side and sitting in front of him, her back to him, facing the fireplace. She bends over to unzip her boots, and eases her feet out of them, and tosses her socks into each boot. Standing again, she grabs her drink and walks back to the fireplace.

She has never looked more beautiful.

She finally moves back toward the sofa, and lifts the blanket, sliding next to him yet again, and pulls the blanket over them. Finally, she speaks again.

"All so unnecessary. For years, I had only this thirst for vengeance for Mom," she continues. "Over time that turned into this Quixotic quest for justice. And all the while, I proudly built these stone walls to protect myself."

He listens intently, not saying a word. He knows that no quip or funny remark will help this discussion. In fact, anything he says at this moment is a hindrance, an obstacle to the clarity that they both seek.

"I was wrong, Rick," she adds softly. She looks toward him, her eyes searching his for guidance. She finds piercing blue eyes, softened by the light from the fireplace, replying back to her.

"You came into my life – and immediately you brought this light, this brightness back into my life. I should have welcomed it. I should have recognized it . . . you. . . as the Godsend you are. But I had grown comfortable in the darkness, Castle. I didn't _like_ the darkness, I didn't like what I had become, but it was comfortable."

She pauses to watch him for a reaction. "It had become home."

He nods in agreement. Divorced from Meredith, who left him and Alexis. Finding her in bed with another man. Screwing up a second marriage with Gina. Ending up hopping from bed to bed, from woman to woman. He didn't like what he had become. But that life had become comfortable. Being on page six, the playboy image – it wasn't him, but it had become a comfortable life. All of the women, all of the one-night stands – those had become his walls.

"But you come in, Castle, and I fight against you. Because you threaten my comfortable darkness. You keep lighting a candle, turning on a flashlight, illuminating the darkness. And each time, I would blow the candle out, knock the flashlight from your hands, shut you down."

She leans forward, her head in her hands, and runs her hands through the long auburn locks, before leaning back into the safety of the cushions.

"Every stupid theory lit a candle. Every dumb remark a lit candle. Every compliment, every cup of coffee, everything about you was a light that slapped my comfort zone silly. I hated you for it, and I loved you for it at the same time. I wanted you gone, and I wanted you right by my side, all at the same time."

Again he nods, knowing that she has perfectly articulated exactly how she has felt about him these years.

"It's like I gave you a hammer to chisel away at my walls – but every time you knocked a hole in a wall, I would hate you, and rebuild the wall stronger. And then – and I know this had to frustrate you to no end, Castle – I would give you the hammer back and ask you to knock away again."

Now he is chuckling, as her admission is both refreshing and steeped in irony.

"Don't laugh, Castle," she states flatly. "I wouldn't think what I did seemed very funny to you then."

"Sometimes it was a bit funny, Beckett," he offers.

"Funny enough to make you bolt across the country, Castle?"

Okay, so maybe it wasn't as funny as he thought. She certainly has a point there.

"No, you're right. Not very funny at all," he grumbles, almost under his breath. She leans in against him, harder, wanting the contact. He lifts his left arm and lets it fall around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

"What I am trying to say is, I realized something today, Castle," she blurts out, as if a dam is breaking and the pent-up waters behind are begging for release.

"I realized that catching my mom's killer being my life's singular objective, my life's achievement is a pretty dumb goal for my life."

She feels him stiffen at her declaration, and she knows he is wondering where in the world this has come from. For four years, her 'mission' is all he has known. It's a close as he has come to the inner Beckett onion. He knows nothing about her childhood, very little about her college years. Does she wear a thong or a bikini panty? What color bras does she wear? He has no idea. Does she regret leaving college? Does she ever want to settle down and marry? He has no idea. Yeah, she said she was a 'one and done' girl, but right now he's counting: Royce, Sorenson, Demming, and most recently Josh. Doesn't sound much like a 'one and done girl' to him.

Before he can comment, she continues. She wants to get this out in the open – all of it - while it is still fresh, and before her natural Stonehenge walls knock her back into her safe cocoon.

"I realized that I may catch her killer someday. But then what?"

She stops, and glances up at Castle, and out of nowhere, places a soft kiss on his cheek, startling him. As he glances down at her to make eye contact, she looks away. She snuggles her head back into his shoulder, and continues.

"I catch him – or her – or them – whoever they are – and then what? What do I do with the rest of my life? And who do I do it with?"

She's not asking the question now. She already knows the answer to this question, and the nervous barking that had assaulted his stomach earlier is now returning, with equal fervor.

"I listened to Dr. Peraza talk about principles, and I realized that I really don't have any," she confesses.

"Wait a minute, Kate, that's pretty harsh –"

"No it's not," she argues. "I have never sat back and decided what it is that I believe in – above all else – for me, for my life, for my family. I have never even considered what it is that I hold most dear, that I would fight for. I've never done that, Castle, because I've been so fixated on the damn goal – catch the killer, obtain justice, gain vengeance."

She feels him nod, and then feels his lips brush her forehead before he pulls her head back into his shoulder. The closeness makes her smile, and brings a sudden mistiness to her eyes.

"_I've got to hold this together – I'm almost there," she thinks to herself._

"And because I've set no principles for my life, I also have no rules that guide me, no fences that steer me one way or the other. I just go. Day to day. Case to case. No rudder, No sail. Just blown here and there."

She is quiet for a moment, and then the dam breaks completely.

"I hate this life, Rick," she sobs, and now she is shaking against him. Her hand is balled into a fist, and it is beating against his knee. Once. Twice. Three times.

"I hate this life. I hate what I have done to myself. I hate what I have done to you. God, I have ruined you-"

"No, Kate. No, you haven't," he states, as he tastes the saltiness of tears streaming down his face that he didn't realize were there.

"I'm so sorry, Castle," she cries, shaking. "I'm so sorry. All I want is you."

"Kate –"

"Four years, Rick. Four years I have pushed you away, choosing a quest over a chance at real happiness. Choosing vengeance over a chance at a real family. Running into the arms of anyone and everyone else, when I should have been running to you."

She slides off the sofa, on to her knees, and places her head in his lap. He immediately – unconsciously begins to stroke her hair, stroke her face. She feels warm drops hitting her cheeks, and recognizes them to be his tears, now mingling with her own. It breaks her even more.

"And now you're here – out here in California – and you may as well be on the other side of the world from me – I've pushed you to a completely different ocean, for God's sake. And before you know it, I will be on a plane headed back to New York. Back to my cases. Back inside my walls. Back to my quest. I hate it, Castle, I hate it. I can't do it anymore. I just want you, Rick."

She pulls herself up to her knees, and straightens herself upright, coming almost face-to-face with him, as he leans over, their foreheads brushing. Despite everything, despite his mistrust, despite any recurring misgivings – this is the love of his life. He knows this. She needs to know it now.

"Kate – I need you to understand. Coming here to California was the hardest decision I have ever made. Because you are the love of my life. I have known this for a couple of years. I knew that coming here – leaving you – meant giving up on ever having that kind of love. Coming here was a conscious decision that would prevent me from having that happiness, because the only person who will give me that happiness is you."

"Castle-"

"No – let me finish. Listening to Samantha this morning and then again tonight – listening and absorbing what she had to say is simply allowing me to articulate what I have been feeling. I know now why I did what I did. When you told me you didn't remember, when you told me that some things were better not to be remembered, something clicked inside me. I didn't know what it was then. I thought it was just raw anger, but I was wrong. I just couldn't put it into words, but I can now."

He takes her face in his hands, and makes sure that they have firm eye contact – this is a make or break moment. He knows this. Sure, they have had breakthroughs in the past month or so – and certainly in the past couple of days. But if four years climbing Mount Beckett has taught him anything, it is that this journey is two steps forward and two steps backward. Or sideways. It is reaching one pinnacle, and then falling in a crevice and taking months to pull yourself out. So yeah – they are at a crossroads here. She has opened up, as never before. Now he must do the same. No innuendo, no hiding behind humorous banter.

"I didn't realize it, Kate, but that morning at the hospital, you helped me establish one of those life principles – a guideline for my life and my family. And that was that I deserve a mutual, loving relationship. That I can't stay in a relationship that ultimately isn't giving me the love and support that I need – that I deserve – that my family deserves. I can't stay in a relationship where my partner, my companion, isn't fighting for me as much as I am fighting for them. I was willing to give my life for you – I was willing, without hesitation, to sacrifice myself for you, to orphan my daughter for crying out loud. And when you said you didn't remember, when you . . . when you chose that route, something clicked. I decided right then and there that I deserved better. And even if I never found love again, that would be better than the one-way relationship I was stuck in with you."

He stands now, and pulls her to her feet. Tears line both of their faces, and he knows he needs to finish quickly before he loses her completely; loses her just when she seems ready to finally jump in, feet first.

"So I left. I couldn't see you anymore. That was a rule to support my principle. I couldn't see you anymore. And my decision? I ran. I ran here to California. That's the only way I knew that this new _'I can't see Beckett'_ rule would ever work. It would never work if I stayed. I'd manufacture ways to see you, and hate myself for it. So I came here. And I also knew I wouldn't find that kind of love with anyone else. My decision? I haven't gone out on a date since I got here, until the other night with you. Why bother? It wouldn't give me what I am looking for, what I believe I deserve. See, I couldn't put these things into words, I couldn't articulate any of this until today, until sitting in those sessions."

He pulls her into a hug now, wrapping his arms around her. She holds on tightly, not sure where this is going. She has just begun to pour her heart out to him, and whatever response she expected, this certainly is not it. Then he continues.

"But if you are saying that you want me, that you want us – if you are saying that this isn't just a two-week vacation where we have fun and then it's business as usual when you go back home – if you are saying that you really want to give us a chance . . . well then I need new rules, Kate. The principle is the same – I need a loving relationship, a loving partner who fulfills me, who supports me, who puts me first, who let's me put her first. I'd given up on you being that partner, God help me, and I'm sorry Kate. I should have been stronger, and been able to stay there and wait it out-"

"No, Castle, no!" she cries, and she is softly beating on his chest as she interrupts his stream of words. "You can't apologize for leaving. I drove you away. You never were first in my life, and you should have been. You deserve to be first. And I can't say it any better than you just did. If I am not willing to make you first, then I don't deserve to be first in your life. But God knows, Rick – that's what I want now - To be first in your life; for you to be my priority. And if I have driven you to create rules – to create walls – to protect you from me, then by God, I will break through those walls! I will help you and I write new rules – rules for us, based upon goals we have for us. Not for me. For us."

She breaks their contact now, walking away back towards the fireplace, toward the warmth there. He follows her, reaching out to her, pulling her back into his embrace. Her back is to him, her head laying back on his chest. He marvels at how much taller he is than her when she is without the heels. He likes how they 'fit'.

"I love you, Castle," she states, simply.

"I love you, Kate. Always have. Even when I tried not to – it's just too strong."

"I really want this, Castle. And I want it the right way – not my old selfish way. I can put you first – I really can."

"Kate, I-"

She interrupts him as she turns and faces him, and quickly stands on her toes to reach his lips. Her lips are on his mouth in an instant – and this time it isn't a soft and gentle kiss. It's rough, and edgy, with her tongue demanding entrance, with his hands roughly massaging through her hair. He pushes her back toward the wall next to the fireplace and she responds by pushing her hands up underneath his sweater, raking her fingernails down his back, before - just as abruptly - breaking contact.

"I want you, Castle. I want it all – Alexis, Martha, my dad – I want it all. I want a family again," she whispers.

"Don't be angry with me," he says, pleadingly.

"What?"

"Don't be angry with me."

"I'm getting there now. What is it, Castle?"

He pauses for a second – as if reconsidering – then jumps in.

"She would be happy to hear you say that," he finally offers. And she knows who 'she' is, who he refers to.

"I know. She wouldn't want vengeance. She would just want me to find what she had found. A family. Happiness. Even if it wasn't forever."

"It's never forever, Kate. But if it's as long as we are here – on this earth – isn't that enough?"

She nods her head in agreement. He feels hope rising in his chest, but needs more confirmation. He can't handle any crossed wires or mixed messages at this point.

"You could really do this, Kate?" he asks, and she can tell he wants to believe, her. Oh, how he desperately needs to believe her, he needs this to be true. "Don't offer this to me if you can't go through with it, Kate. I wouldn't be able to -"

"I can do this, Castle. I want to do this. More than anything I have ever wanted to do. Trust me. And I know you have no reason to trust me. I've given you no logical reason to believe me. But I ask you – please – trust me, believe me on this."

He leans in, wanting to kiss this beautiful woman again, but she holds him off – pushes him away just so he can see the truth in her next statement.

"I promise you, Castle – I promise you. I may make you angry, I may disappoint you, I may piss you off – but I promise you, I will never break your heart again. You will never again wonder if I am yours, if I am with you in this."

"I don't . . . I don't know what to say, Beckett."

"Oh, we are back to Beckett now?" she offers playfully, a single tear still finding its escape down her cheek.

"You know what I –"

She takes his hands, and places each one on top each of her breasts, on top of her sweater. She smiles as she hears him literally groan in surprise.

"These belong to you, Mr. Castle," she smiles. She moves one hand off her breasts, and moves his fingers to her lips.

"These belong to you, Mr. Castle," she says, still smiling very softly.

He reaches around to cup her hips with both hands, the question dances in his eyes.

"Yes, this too, Castle," she smirks, and he returns it in kind. "Anything else?"

His response is to turn off the fireplace. He picks up both of their drinks, and puts them on the mantle, up out of the way.

"These can wait until morning," he says.

He takes her by the hand, and opens the door to the den, and then starts walking toward the stairs. As she reaches the stairs behind him, he stops and turns, and in one deft motion, he lifts her into his arms, allowing her to wrap an arm around his neck. Step by step, he carries her up the stairs, reaching the landing, and his bedroom door. He places his forehead along hers, stopping before they enter his room.

"Are you sure, Kate? We can't . . . I can't turn back from this. I'm sorry, I just have to make –"

"Castle – if you aren't inside me in the next half hour, you will be sorry."

He laughs softly, and her laugher follows his, as he carries her into the bedroom and closes the door behind them.


	19. Chapter 19

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 19**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Dec 21, 2011, 4:30am in Sausalito at Richard Castle's Residence**_

"_This feels . . . right. He feels right."_

She has been awake for a few minutes now. She's only been here on the west coast for a couple of days, so her natural body rhythm's built-in alarm clock has awakened her as if she is still on east coast time. It's 6:30 back home, and she would be getting up and getting ready for work at the precinct. But she's not in New York City.

She feels him stirring behind her. They are still naked from the previous evening, and tightly spooned after a night of long-overdue discovery – her back pressed into his chest. The last thing she wants to do at this point is move.

"_Mmmm. I'm not in Kansas anymore,"_ she laughs to herself – a bright smile bursting forth from her face. The smile gets bigger as she realizes just how long it has been since she has awakened from a night's sleep with a smile on her face. Far too long.

There is no need to wake her partner – it is still a couple of hours before he will awaken. The sun is still a couple of hours away from rising, and the room is dark with the lack of a moon last night and this morning. And as she considers her options she realizes there is no need for her to get up right now either, thankfully. For now, she finds herself simply – and wonderfully – laying in the darkness, reminiscing about their wide-open conversation last night, and their nocturnal adventures that followed.

"_Have to admit . . . he was . . . we were . . . everything I had dreamed,"_ she thinks to herself. Her smile broadens even more – if that is possible – as her mind rewinds and plays back various moments. Years ago – it literally has been years ago - she had told him that he had no idea what it could possibly be like with her. As it turns out, she was only partly right, as he had a few surprises for her as well.

She remembers standing on her side of his bed, pulling her sweater top over her head, while he was on his side of the same bed, unbuttoning his shirt. Their eyes had never left each other's gaze until that moment. He quickly became a frozen statue the moment she unfastened her bra, and let it drop to the floor to join her sweater.

"Ground control to Major Rick," she had laughed, trying – quite unsuccessfully - to draw his eyes back to hers. Could she blame him? After all, he had just witnessed an unveiling that – in his mind – was almost four years in the making. Yeah, he savored that moment for as long as he could and she reveled in knowing how he relished, how he cherished that moment.

It's at this particular second – with this recollection – that she becomes aware of his right hand cupping her right breast. She barely stifles a giggle now, realizing the absurdity of this moment. Sure, she had hoped they would get to this point at some time during her visit to the west coast – but now actually being here, living in the moment was practically surreal. She briefly places her left hand atop his right hand which holds fast to her breast. Immediately – almost possessively – Castle's hand tightens, caressing her slightly and she hears him murmur something in his sleep.

"_This feels . . . so right,"_ she thinks to herself yet again. _"And I fought this . . . for years."_ She almost imperceptibly shakes her head at the thought, and quickly puts it behind her. No more being held a prisoner of the past – her past – anymore.

She pulls her legs up upward, tighter towards her belly and then reaches back with her feet so that they are touching his thighs. This, too, draws a reaction from him, as he pulls her closer, forcing her to drop her feet and legs back to their original position. She smiles at this surprising, unconscious possessive nature he exhibits. She idly wonders how many more surprises she is in for, now that they have finally crossed that threshold.

She closes her eyes for a second, whispering a silent _"thank you"_ upwards. She is beyond grateful in this moment, knowing how far they have come, what they have battled through to get to this point.

As if in response to her gratitude - in an instant - a series of flashbacks shatter her peace, displaying themselves in her mind in vivid Technicolor.

She watches herself kissing Tom Demming in the precinct, and from this vantage point she can see the look of sheer sadness that paints Castle's face – a work of art she totally missed at the time. She watches Castle leave the precinct, arm in arm with his ex-wife Gina, disappearing for an entire summer to the Hamptons. This time, it is he who is oblivious to the pained look etched across her own face.

She watches the two of them slip into the cold darkness in a freezer before she can tell him that she loves him, only to watch herself awake to another man's eyes instead of Castle's. She sees that same pain on his face as he sees her with yet another man.

She watches as her apartment explodes as she hurls herself into her tub, remembering her thoughts of him as she shielded herself from the blast. She sees Dick Coonan in the precinct with a gun in Castle's back, remembering that she was – for an instant – convinced that she was mere seconds from losing him. She watches Castle reach in and grab a handful of wires and rip them out, and smiles internally at the look of pure unadulterated joy that lit their faces when they both realized that – yet again – they had cheated death in the most massive of ways. She watches – with a pang of unnecessary jealousy – as she watches Castle kiss Kyra Blaine, the only woman who has ever truly worried Kate Beckett when it comes to Richard Castle.

She watches – age old guilt resurfacing – as he leaves her hospital room – the bright, boy-like light in his eyes extinguished by her lie.

It is that visual that startles her, causing her to jump slightly as the next viewing is a distant crack, followed by a force hitting her chest, driving her backward, downward.

"I love you, Kate. I love you," she sees him say to her, begging her to stay with him. Her eyes water slightly as her left hand goes to her scar, between her breasts, and her memories shift away from all of the various obstacles they have overcome, and lands serenely – thankfully - back onto last night. Her clothes lie on the floor; she had climbed into bed where Castle had been waiting, beating her in undressing by just a few seconds. Immediately his hands were drawn to her breasts, his lips to her mouth.

"Mine?" he had asked, touching her.

"Yours," she had replied.

Within seconds his hands had found her scar – and he stopped to take a look – a first look – at the scar that had almost destroyed her – destroyed them.

"Rick –" she had begun, still very much self-conscious of the defaming mark, wishing that she had let him in sooner so that he could have seen her unblemished, unmarked.

"Mine," is all he said, running his eyes and hand along the scar, which had brought a jolt of emotion to the proceedings, to say the least. Even that . . . no, _especially_ that damn scar . . . belonged to him now. He had caressed that thing – almost reverently – with fingers and lips, throughout the night.

"All of you . . . mine," she hears him say, and even now – remembering just the gentle honesty of his words stun her.

The memory causes her to smile – again. There are so many moments from the previous night that she will remember forever. The sweet kisses and the giggles that turned to outright laughter; she had no idea that she was that ticklish. She – very quickly – wonders why no one else had found those particular body spots that forced her to explode with laughter – but the thought is gone just as quickly. She is glad that it is Castle who has taken the time to discover those secrets. She is glad that they discovered so much last night that will always be uniquely theirs.

Yes – she has so many moments that are now burned deep into her subconscious. But it is the sweet realization that she won't have to exist on just those memories alone – the realization that they can relive those memories again – and not just have to rely on memory – that gives her pause.

She idly wonders what today will bring for them. Obviously he is heading to the Castles complex in a few hours, and this morning she plans on joining him. Her sole reason for coming out here certainly wasn't just a rumble between the sheets. It's long past time that they started to share everything – and truth be told – she really is looking forward to 'shadowing' him at his place of work, returning the lovely favors that he has given her over the past few years.

She also knows how important the Castles complex is to him, and she can sense how important it is becoming to her for her to share that passion with him. For a brief moment, she wonders what remains in New York City for her, but she quickly puts those thoughts away, to be pondered, considered and dissected another time.

She snuggles back into him, smiling deeply. She is where she belongs, where she has belonged for quite some time now. She stares at the wall next to the door leading into his master bathroom.

"_You would love him, mom,"_ she thinks to the wall, imagining her mother standing against the wall, a warm smile on her lips watching her daughter.

"_I already do love him, Becks,"_ she hears her mother respond in her mind. Beckett's smile grows, as the voice that has been – for so long – dormant and hidden in her mind, finally resurfaces.

"_He is such a good man, mom. I almost made him wait too long,"_ she thinks, eyes still frozen on the wall where her mother stands with a smile on her face.

"_Yet here you are. Safe in his arms,"_ her mother's voice speaks inside her head. _"I'm so happy for you, sweetheart."_

The tears fall – happy tears that don't dare disturb the smile on Kate Beckett's lips. She ignores their saltiness, refusing to allow even tears to tear her away from this conversation with her mother that she has long wanted to have.

"_I am happy, mom – really happy,"_ Kate tells her, as she closes her eyes one final time for the night – or wee morning hours as it is – and she brings her mother happily to slumber with her for the first time in over a decade. Taking a deep and contented breath, she wills herself back to sleep.

Unbeknownst to her, her 'conversation' with her mother has not exactly stayed in her subconscious; instead, her light whispers had floated on the air, and had they not been so tightly coupled together, Richard Castle would have missed them. Instead, even as soft as they were, her words brought him slightly awake – enough to recognize the moment being played out in front of him.

As her eyes close, he allows himself to drift away also back into the beautiful place that he, too, has finally found in the night after months of darker dreams. He, too smiles, loving her even more, and eternally grateful for the beautiful sleep awaiting her that he knows – all too well – has likely escaped her for years.


	20. Chapter 20

**A Different Road Taken: Chapter 20**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

_**Dec 21, 2011, 7:00am in Sausalito at Richard Castle's Residence**_

She slowly awakens for the second time in the last couple of hours. As she glances at the large clock on the wall, she determines to actually get out of bed this time. She idly wonders why in the world he would have a large clock with a lion face hanging on his bedroom wall. Maybe a question to ask at another time . . .

She feels him stir behind her and she subconsciously snuggles her hips back into him – as though they have been doing this for years, when in fact, it has only been hours. She smiles at the thought, as she whispers to him.

"Castle?"

"Yeah?"

"You awake?"

"No. I talk in my sleep like this all the time. Get used to – Ouch!"

Her response – a quick elbow to the ribs – silences him. She smiles inwardly, as she climbs out of bed. Still naked from the previous evening, she stands – her back still to him - and moans as she stretches her arms high above her head, willing sleepy – and somewhat aching- muscles to awaken.

"Now that is a sight for sore eyes," he tells her, and she can feel the smirk even though she doesn't face him.

"Your eyes aren't the only thing sore this morning, Mr. Castle."

He swears she damn near purred the words, and he feels the rest of his body awakening quickly. He cannot wipe the boyish smile off his face. This morning – last night – both are a dream come true for him. To spend the night intimately with her was Act One. To wake up, and she is still here with him? Yeah, that's Act Two. He can hardly wait to see where this play takes them.

"If you are sore, I am afraid I can't take any of the credit for that, Miss Beckett," he chuckles, and now she turns to face him, hands on her hips.

"If memory serves, I believe you were quite the take-charge woman last evening, as I recall spending most of the time flat on my -" he continues, only to be met by her pillow quickly plowing across his face. He tosses the pillow to the side of the bed, laughing, but immediately finds himself thrown backwards onto his back – yet again – as she pounces on him while he is distracted with the pillow.

"My, my, you are the lithe one, my lovely detective," he laughs, as she buries her face into his neck, her auburn locks spraying across his face. He is heaven.

"Oh Richard!" he hears the sing-song words, coming in cadence from the hallway, and hears steps walking toward his bedroom door.

"Wha – Crap – Wha . . . Mother ?"

"Mother?" Kate whispers, somewhat horrified.

"Hide!" he exclaims.

"What?!" is the indignant reply from fiery eyes, now more green than hazel.

"Mother, what are you doing here?" he asks loudly through the door.

"I hope you are decent because I am coming in," he hears – which sets a cacophony of bad events into motion. First, Kate Beckett finds herself flying upward and onto the floor alongside his side of the bed. She lands with a thud that she promises to repay him with in kind.

Second, the comforter – which had wrapped her so warmly and become a beautiful piece of the puzzle that was last night has somehow found itself in the air as well, landing atop her, covering most of her body, just as there is a knock on the door, and the door swings open, finding Martha Rogers staring at her son, his chest bare while the rest of his lower extremities are safely covered by his bedsheet.

"Holy Hell, Mother, what do you think you are doing?" he asks, totally exasperated and knowing the war he has just started that lies on the floor beside him, just out of Martha's line of sight.

"Good morning, Richard," comes the reply.

Any thought that he had of pulling this off crashes loudly beside him, as Kate chooses this moment to spring upward to her knees, throwing the comforter off of her head, quickly wrapping it around her naked torso and blowing a puff of air from her lower lip to get her hair out of her face. She faces Martha, who only smirks.

"_I love the stupid man, but if he thinks I am hiding under his bed like a busted teenager, he has got another thing coming!"_ she thinks to herself.

"Hello, Martha," Kate offers sweetly, with a smile.

Martha, nonplussed, responds quickly.

"Richard, Richard, did I teach you nothing? The woman gets the bed . . . you get the floor!"

Kate is chuckling now, as is Martha. Richard, for his part, is – in his mind – frantically searching for his blue police box to escape to another time or place. Anywhere but here, for crying out loud.

"Mother, this is extreme even for you -" he begins, only to be interrupted. Of course he is interrupted, this is his mother he is talking to.

"It's seven o'clock Richard, and I know you have an early morning ahead of you," she explains, using a logic that is clearly obvious to her. "I figured I would awaken the two of you so you could get started."

"But what are you doing here, and – what? Wait a minute – what do you mean 'the two of you'?" he asks. His eyes wander between the beautiful woman on the floor next to him and the older red-headed matriarch with the totally inappropriate timing.

"How did you even know Kate would be in here?" he questions. Kate, for her part, loses her smile briefly, now wondering the same thing herself.

"Well, darling," she begins, as she walks to the large oversized chair just a few feet from a now stunned-into-silence Kate, and flops down, putting her hands on her knees.

"I wanted to surprise you. I know how important this project is for you, and I wanted to be here after you had a day or two under your belt," she smiles. "I landed last night around 11:30 – we were delayed out of Charlotte, of all places," she says, waving her hand theatrically in the air as she continues.

"When I got here to your place – by taxi, I want you to know since I wanted to surprise you – everyone was already asleep. I went to the downstairs guest room –"

"Oh God –" Castle moans, his hands now covering his eyes.

"Now Richard, how was I supposed to know that your lovely friend Jordan and her husband would be in there, I ask you? Although I do suppose I owe them an apology this morning, also."

A closed mouth giggle barely escapes from Kate's lips, earning her a glare from her partner.

"Mother, I don't want to know –"

"Continuing on, dear – so I went upstairs, assuming that Kate was in the guest room up here, I went into Alexis' room. But there was a young girl with Alexis . . ."

"Oh God –" Castle whimpers again.

" . . . so I knocked softly – honestly I did – on the guest room door, and surprise! Kate was not there. Ergo, I determined she was with you – so I slept there in the guest room last night and now here I am – ready to help you in any way I can," she finishes, smiling triumphantly.

"Oh you can help all right –"

"What Rick means to say," Kate interrupts, "is that we are so glad that you are here, Martha. It is good to see you."

Saying this, Kate stands, wrapping herself tightly in the comforter, and walks the few steps to the chair where Martha has been sitting. She stands, and Kate envelopes her in a tight hug.

Castle sits dumbfounded, wondering if he is the only one who, first, is appalled by these proceedings, and subsequently, finds himself wondering why in the world the embrace between his mother and the woman he loves has taken on a life of its own, or so it seems.

It's awkward, yes. Hell – forget awkward – there is no word for Hurricane Martha, and her timing or her total seemingly lack of sense of decency. But at this moment, it strikes Kate Beckett that willingly or unwillingly, this woman she embraces is just as responsible for last night as any of the words she or Castle spoke to one another.

The embrace is only a few seconds. Okay, maybe a little more than a few seconds. But in those seconds, time stands still for a few clicks. And Kate's mind is taken back to ten or twenty Saturday late morning brunches and afternoon lunches spent with Martha. She – in a brief instant – revisits the supportive conversations, the encouragement along with the correction from the older woman. Without those conversations, without Martha's hugs, without her words of advice, Kate knows that she never would have found the strength, or the courage to even get to this point.

Martha, for her part, seems to understand the lingering hug from the younger woman, and smiles a contented motherly smile.

"Thank you, Martha," Kate whispers.

"I could not be happier for you, Kate, my dear," Martha replies.

Kate pulls back so that she can look his mother in the eye, still holding onto her shoulders. She smiles, and her smile broadens as she continues.

"But this _is_ a little creepy, you busting into our room," she chuckles.

"Oh, this is _'our'_ room now – already?" Martha laughs – without missing a beat - while glancing at her son who can only lower his face back into his hands.

"Okay, I believe I have damaged my son enough for one morning," Martha offers dramatically as she makes her way to the bedroom door.

"I will start breakfast, Richard," she says as she reaches for the doorknob.

"No! No – that's okay, Mother. I'm up now – I will get it going! Just give me a few minutes."

Martha laughs as she makes her way into the hallway, closing the bedroom door behind her, her footsteps trailing off until they hear her making her way downstairs.

"What was that about?" Kate wonders aloud to him.

"Have you ever known my mother to cook breakfast?" he asks her. As she shakes her head knowingly, he continues.

"There is a reason you don't," he says. "You have no idea how important it is that I be down in the kitchen in the next five minutes." He launches himself off the bed, and is standing beside her when he suddenly finds himself flying backwards. A second later, he is on his back on the bed, his feet dangling off the side of the bed, with Kate straddling him. She pins his hands and arms with her hands. She playfully slaps his cheek – very softly with a smile, and then bends over and licks his lower lip, eliciting a soft groan from him. Suddenly, she roughly grabs his left ear, which gets his attention.

"If you ever throw me to the ground again – without reasons that include my complete gratification, of course – I will shoot you, Castle, and I mean it," she says menacingly and gives a quick twist to the now reddening ear.

"Apples! Apples!" he shouts, as she releases his ear, and then – stunningly, in a move he will remember likely for the rest of his life – however long that may be –she crawls out of the bed, _over him_, like a hunting tigress, her arms, then her torso, her legs all brushing across his face as she pulls herself to the other side of the bed, onto the floor, and walks into his bathroom.

He lets out a couple of grunts of air that he unintentionally was holding, his arms flayed out to his side, his legs still dangling off his side of the bed, touching the floor.

"Geeez!" is all he can offer, silently, to the ceiling above, knowing that a cold, cold shower is now suddenly on the breakfast menu.

_**Dec 21, 2011, Same morning, now 7:45am in Sausalito at Richard Castle's Residence**_

"So then, he yells at me – 'Hide!' – and throws me – I kid you not – he _throws _me off the bed to the floor, and then throws the comforter at me just for giggles."

Jordan, Tom and Martha are bellowing with laughter as Kate recounts the events from not even an hour earlier. Along with Castle, the five are seated at the kitchen table – fantastic bay views in the distance – dining on the bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs and toast Castle had quickly whipped together.

"I handed you the comforter for your own modesty, detective, not for – as you say – giggles," he counters, and receives her classic eye-roll for his efforts. He glances at the stairs, just to make sure that Alexis nor her young companion saunter down into the middle of this quagmire.

"I know I will regret asking this," Castle begins, as he looks across the table at his beaming mother.

"Mother, please tell me you did not . . . interrupt anything last night when you went into the downstairs guest room. Jordan, Tom, please tell me nothing happened. Lie to me, if you must," he continues, now completely mortified at where his still over-active imagination is taking him.

"I wish I could, Rick," is all Jordan says, and he sees Tom snicker to her side. Kate erupts in further guffaws, almost losing her scrambled eggs in the process.

Martha simply sits, pleased with herself, and nibbles on a piece of bacon.

"Not to worry, Richard. Jordan was safely in bed and under the covers when I opened the door," Martha says to him, matter-of-factly.

"Thank God for that," Castle half whispers in thanks. "And thank God you weren't there at the time, Tom," he continues.

"Oh, I was there," Tom corrects him.

Castle looks at him for a split second before Martha – innocently – states, matter-of-factly,

"Oh, Tom, I didn't see you there. Were you in bed, also?"

Kate is now holding her hands in her face, shaking with laughter. Jordan smirks at her husband, while Castle sits – dumbfounded – staring from face to face at the table.

"Mother, have you no shame? No scruples at all?" he asks.

"No scruples?" she answers, questioning, her fork in hand and mouth hanging open for an instant.

"Kate," Martha continues, turning to face the young woman, "have I ever told you the story about Richard's first book signing?"

"And we're done!" Castle exclaims, quickly, as he grabs both his and Kate's plate in one hand, and hers in another. He drops the plates into the sink and in one motion tugs her toward the den – the source of their conversation just last night.

"Is everything okay, Castle?" she asks, laughing at the blush that is still on his face. In the distance behind them they can hear Martha, Jordan and Tom still laughing in the kitchen area.

"Geesh, Beckett, does it _look_ like everything is okay?" he says, agitatedly. "I'm sorry for my mother. Her sense of timing, and lack of –"

"Castle – I'm fine. I think this is adorable. Okay, so upstairs _was_ a little creepy, but . . ."

She tails off, not finishing the sentence. She still smiles, but for an instant her eyes are far away, somewhere else.

"Beckett? Kate?"

She snaps back, just as suddenly, her smile still wide across her face.

"How long have you known me, Rick?" she asks, suddenly serious, but still smiling.

"Is this a rhetorical question, because if it is, then I-"

"No, Rick – you've known me for four years. Last night I made love to the man I love, and this morning I was treated to breakfast and laughter with friends," she offers him – the smile still there, but loosening a bit.

"Do you think this was a normal evening and morning for me? Do you think this was a typical sleep and wake for me?"

"No, I guess not, Kate," he gives her. "I'm sorry, honey."

"No, no, don't apologize. Good Lord, not for this. If this is what normal is, Castle, then _give_ me normal. If this is a taste of what life could be like for us, then _give_ me this," she tells him, and she pulls herself into his chest and holds on.

He reaches down to her face, and pulls it upwards towards him, giving her a soft kiss. He has to remind himself to remember that the zaniness of Richard Castle's household – a wacky mother, a precocious teenage daughter and a boy-man father have developed a 'normal' that is far, far different than that of Kate Beckett. She doesn't have mornings with mom, and except for occasional weekends, time with dad isn't much of a priority either. He now realizes that the proceedings in the kitchen area were heaven to her; it was a breath of fresh air, an awakening of sorts. Immediately his mind doubles back just minutes earlier, and he sees her laughing, bellowing and doubled over – and he abruptly ended it because of a little embarrassment?

"I'm sorry, Kate. You're right," he tells her, and kisses her again – thrilled as she returns the passion in kind.

"Good morning, Castle," she smiles.

"Good morning, detective," he playfully responds, as he pulls her out of the den and back into the kitchen where the laughter – although dying down – still continues, as Martha holds court. They walk, hand in hand, to the kitchen table where everyone still sits, and they rejoin them in their same chairs.

"Properly chastised?" Jordan asks knowingly, gazing at Castle.

"Properly," he answers with a small smile, and begins to wonder just how in tune these two women are with one another. Just then, his phone buzzes with the ring tone indicating a text from Mike at the complex.

"_Believe it or not, three new clients this morning. 2 of them came after midnight. Got it covered, just keeping you in the loop."_

"Trouble?" Kate asks, and the other three adults quiet their laughter in anticipation.

"Nope – no trouble at all," he says, allowing everyone to breathe again.

"_Thanks Mike. Kate and I will be there within the hour."_

"Just Mike telling me we have new guests at the complex – three of them in fact – but all is well," he states, completing his text and shutting off the display for his phone.

"Well, we have some sights to see before tonight's sessions," Jordan says, rubbing her mouth with a napkin as she and Tom push themselves away from the table.

"And I need to fix my face and get ready for today," Kate says, standing up and preparing to head back up the stairs.

"Dinner tonight," Tom states. "Are we eating out or eating in? Just want to know so Jordy and I know how to play this today."

"Why don't you eat out, and then – if all goes well – there is a place down on the water in town that where we can finish with desserts and drinks," Castle offers.

"Sounds good," Jordan replies, and everyone nods. "Hope it is a good day, Castle," she finishes.

"Indeed. For all of us. Have fun, you two – I assume Jenna will be with Alexis . . ."

"Yep, that's the plan – although we're hoping Alexis shows us a few places in the city," Tom adds.

"Mother?" Castles asks, searching his mother.

"Actually, I am hoping to steal Alexis and their young one away for the afternoon. It has been months since I have seen my granddaughter, and that is more than enough time," Martha responds.

"Certainly – I have no problem with that," Jordan states, and Tom nods his head in agreement.

"That will give you two kiddos some much needed time alone, I'm sure," Martha continues.

"Again – no problem on this end," smiles Jordan.

With that, Jordan and Tom retreat back to their room, while Castle and Kate head back up the stairs, side by side, still holding hands. He almost feels the eyes burning into the back of his head, and so Castle turns his head slightly and catches a glance from his mother at the foot of the stairs. The smile on her face, and the slight glistening in her eyes tell him plenty. He offers her a smile and a wordless "I love you", which only makes her smile all the brighter.

He and Kate approach the top of the staircase wordlessly, before she breaks off and heads to the upstairs guestroom. She looks behind her, and sees his questioning look, and smiles.

"I guess there are a number of reasons why I am not going to be sleeping in this room after all," she offers him, "and I need to gather my things and put them into our . . . into your room," she finishes.

He does not miss the 'our' to 'your' correction, and recalls his mother's joking when Kate made a similar statement earlier this morning. He could let it go. Oh, he really should let it go. A smart man would let it go.

He's not necessarily a smart man.

"That's funny, detective," he begins. "Not an hour ago, this was 'our' bedroom, not just mine," he says. Earlier this year, such a statement would have been accompanied with an exaggerated waggle of the eyebrows. But this isn't earlier this year. This is now, and they have shared honest words, and a bed.

She holds a finger toward him, and wiggles it toward herself indicating he should follow, which he does. She walks into the guest room and heads to the closet.

"She's gonna ignore me," he thinks to himself. Maybe a little eyebrow wiggle was in order. But then he considers what is happening in front of him. She is gathering her clothes, her belongings, and planning on placing them in _his_ room, moving out of the guest room.

"Could use a little help here, Castle," she kids him, and he quickly gathers her hanging clothes from the small closet, while she quickly empties the two drawers she had taken into her suitcase. She then walks into the bathroom to gather her personal things – toothbrush, shower sponge, make-up kit – putting them into her small bag that lies on the bathroom floor under the built-in vanity.

"Got everything?" he asks, standing a foot inside the bathroom doorway.

"Think so," she responds, looking around quickly one last time.

"Of course, if I miss anything, Martha can always bring them down the hall to-"

"Why don't we take one more look," he interrupts, quickly going back into the bedroom to give the room one last look-over, earning a loud chuckle from his companion.

Once satisfied, they drag hangers, clothes, suitcase and toiletry bag down the hall into his bedroom, where she stops, suddenly, standing in the doorway to his room.

"What's wrong?" he asks, just a little concerned, wondering if he said something wrong.

"Nothing," she replies, almost meekly. It's a different expression, a different look for her.

"It's just, well . . . this is your room, and I don't know where to put any of this stuff."

"Follow me," he tells her, as he walks into the bathroom. She follows, and watches as he walks through the bathroom into the walk-in closet. Following, she notices that pretty much half of the closet is empty. She isn't sure whether she is surprised by this fact. Part of her expected the entire closet to be taken up by a cadre of the ultra-expensive clothing that she knows he has; she has seen the clothes he wears.

He seems to read her mind – somehow they still manage to do that sometimes.

"Never had as much as you probably think, and got rid of a lot of it when I came out here," he explains.  
>"Wouldn't have taken up this entire closet anyway," he finishes.<p>

"Hmmm," is her only response, with a smile, as she helps him place hanging items on the rods hanging on the wall. She then notices all of the built-ins for shoes and folded clothing.

"Figures you'd have a California Closet, Castle."

"Uh . . . well, we are in –"

"It's _so_ important you don't finish that sentence, Castle," she purrs and the spoken train of words immediately grinds to a halt, with him playfully zipping his lips shut.

She places folded underwear and bras into one of the slots in the built-ins, then opens her suitcase, revealing – surprisingly – only four or five pairs of shoes.

"Hmmm, I thought you'd –"

"That sentence, too, Castle," she offers playfully. He complies with another smile.

Minutes later, all of her clothes are settled, her bath toiletries have found their place in the 'hers' section of his master bathroom, and they find their way back to the bedroom. She sits on the bed, and runs her hands through her hair, then reaches for her brush to begin brushing it back into place.

"You okay?" he asks her, again a little concerned. It's going so well. So well. But years with Beckett have taught him that a storm is never far away as far as they are concerned.

'Never better, Castle," she responds. "Never better. I mean that."

"Then what is it?" he asks again.

She smiles, her eyes brightening the room if that were possible.

"It's just things are going so well," she starts. "No, that's not what I want to say. Things are going so . . . fast right now. Are we going too fast? I just don't want to screw this up, you know?"

"Fast?" he asks, and then chuckles a little louder than he intends.

"What?" she asks, now a bit confused.

"I have chased you, wooed you, pissed you off, supported you, wanted you – for _years_ now, Beckett. _Years._ I've written three or four books in that time! So, no, I wouldn't describe anything we have done – or are doing – as 'fast' by any stretch of the imagination."

"You know what I mean," she says.

"No – you don't seem to know what I mean," he states, sitting down next to her.

"Where you are right now, Kate, where you appear to be at least, if I can be so presumptuous, is where I have been for a long, long time."

She squeezes his hands in her own, recognizing the bittersweet truth in his words, and recognizing – in amazement – that he offers these words without any regret or malice.

"I know, Rick, and I'm so sorry-"

"Whoa, whoa," he stops her. "There are no apologies right now. We have apologized enough for a lifetime in the past couple of days. It's time to start living, right?

"Right," she agrees, and kisses his cheek. He turns his face towards hers, so that their lips meet, and it is a little rougher this time, a little more passion involved. His tongue asks for entry and when she complies, she pulls him down onto the bed with her. For a few seconds – that seem much, much longer – they linger there together, before she breaks the contact – her eyes darkening, his glazed over.

"Much as I would like to continue this," she begins, and he snaps back to the present with her.

"We have to get into work," he says, and as the words leave his mouth, he is struck by what he has just said. It has not escaped her either, as she smiles with him.

"What I meant to say is that we have to-"

"I know what you meant, Rick," she interrupts, placing her finger over his lips, and then pulls herself back into a sitting position, as he joins her sitting upright.

"Maybe this is going fast, maybe it's not," she says, "but I could get used to this, Castle." Her eyes are soft, and honest. His heart has just sped up and now, seemingly stopped in his chest.

"What do you mean, Kate?" he asks. For a few seconds, she doesn't respond, but he watches her work her lower lip, knowing she is mulling over her response. It both frightens and exhilarates him. Finally, she opens her mouth to speak again.

"I mean –"

"Richard! Are you decent in there?"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," he exclaims with frustration, but before he can say anything more, Kate's hand is on his arm, stopping him.

"Rick, do you know how badly I wish that I could be . . . interrupted . . . embarrassed . . . frustrated . . . by my mom right now?"

It is a gentle mercy, a soft emotional slap that she gives him, once again reminding him that 'his normal' is something she would die for, something she longs desperately for. He has much to learn. She can teach him. The irony takes his breath aback.

"We're decent, Martha" she yells out to the door, and within seconds Martha flamboyantly enters into the bedroom, with her younger version in tow.

"Hey pumpkin," he says, standing up to hug his daughter.

"I found them wide awake and getting dressed," Martha says proudly.

"Dad – what a great surprise to see Grams here," Alexis says excitedly. "Were you surprised?"

"Sweetheart, I couldn't have been more surprised if –"

"We were pleasantly surprised, Alexis," Kate interrupts, with a not so soft punch to his arm, which yields an exaggerated and soundless "ouch" from her partner.

"They have not eaten yet, so we are headed into town down near the piers for breakfast," Martha states.

"Didn't you eat already, mother?" he asks.

"Just nibbled, darling. Just nibbled while you young ones held court," she says with a wave of her hand, drawing laughter from Alexis.

"Oh, I've missed you, Grams," the younger girl states, hugging her grandmother.

"_Yeah, our normal is pretty nice,"_ he thinks to himself, knowing that this is something that the beautiful detective standing next to him craves, needs, deserves.

"Have a wonderful time, Mother. Alexis, Jenna," he says, nodding as he faces and acknowledges the youngest girl who still stands in the doorway.

"Don't wait up, Richard, as I have no idea what time we shall return," his mother states, as she drags the two younger women out of the room. Seconds later, he hears their laughter walking down the stairs as he turns back to face Kate, who is now walking back into the bathroom.

"Just give me a few minutes to get presentable and I will be ready to go," she says.

"You always look presentable to me, detective," he smiles to her, and she returns his smile. "Always."

"You're sweet," she says.

"And truthful," he counters.

She smiles as she sits down on the vanity chair at the built in table in the bathroom, and begins applying her makeup when suddenly, she wonders who he built this bathroom for. Certainly this vanity chair – nor the built-in vanity – is for him. When he built the house she was a distant memory to him, wasn't she? She was someone he was trying to forget, wasn't she? Immediately, she brushes such thoughts aside.

"Why wouldn't he build it for a couple," she realizes to herself. "It's the master bathroom, and if for no other reason than re-sale, it makes sense to build it for two," she tells herself, then chastises herself for doubting the man over something so reasonable.

For doubting the man at all.

She shakes her head, pushing such thoughts away, as she continues to apply eyeliner, and as she looks in the mirror and glances upward, she sees the concerned look on his face as he stands in the doorway into the bathroom. While he doesn't know precisely what was going on inside her head, he still knows her well enough to know when a battle is brewing between those beautiful ears, and he realizes this one was a doozy.

"I love you, Rick," she gives him, knowing that he needs to hear the words now.

"I love you, too."

She puts her eye brushes and pencils away, and picks up the lip gloss and gives her lips one pass, before rubbing them together. Standing, she walks the few steps toward him, and places her arms around his neck. Wearing flats, she is struck again by his height.

"I'm glad I am here, Rick. I'm glad I came."

"Me, too, Kate. Me, too. You've no idea."

He releases her, as she gathers a few things to drop into her hand purse, so they can get going to the complex.

He glances at his watch – not looking at the time – but instead, the date. December 21st. She leaves on January 2nd. It is still almost two weeks away, but – in this instant, all of the sudden – another ten or eleven days doesn't seem like that much. They will be come and gone before he knows it – and this he knows with certainly. The only thing going fast in his mind right now is time – their time – and it slips further away with every day, no matter how happy those days might be.

"Ready?" she asks, and he pushes such thoughts away, for another time. He knows those thoughts will certainly resurface - many more times – between now and then. He will deal with them _then_. For _now_, he has more important things. He has her.

"Ready," he agrees, and taking her hand, walks her out of the bathroom, out of the bedroom, down the stairs, out the front door to the waiting car. He opens the door for her, bringing another one of 'those smiles' from her lips. He closes the car door, and walks to his side, slides in, and brings the beast to life. Switching gears, he guns it into motion down the driveway, and feels her hand lay softly across his. Glancing over to her, he sees her looking out her window, quiet for now.

He wonders if she has the same thoughts, if time is moving this quickly for her as well. He wonders if she thinks about January 2nd, and her return flight to New York.

He has no idea how close to the truth – and how far from the truth – he actually is.

**A/N:** Ok, I admit that this writing of Martha may be 'slightly' (sarcasm intended) out of character, but Martha is just a fun write for me. She's flamboyant, she's over the top, and I don't think she really gives a hoot what anyone thinks, save her son – and even then only occasionally. Anyway, thanks for staying with / bearing with the story. Things will get interesting soon, I promise.


End file.
